


The Black Widow’s Broken Menagerie

by MelisandreStark



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: 1800s AU, F/F, Hecate Needs a Hug, and a slap tbh, and has absolutely no control of her numerous children, general Mildred shenanigans, hecate is exhausted, rich people, slowburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24478576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelisandreStark/pseuds/MelisandreStark
Summary: Duchess Hecate Hardbroom is expecting her life to calm down significantly after the death of her father which leaves her with the largest estate in England. It seems her children, each from five previous marriages that have ended in untimely death, are not set on letting this happen.With this, a new mysterious neighbour, and problems coming from London- Hecate is one debacle away from multiple aneurisms.
Relationships: Hardbroom/Pentangle (Worst Witch)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 72





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> most of this is prewritten but I haven't edited future chapters yet so excuse my predictability terrible update schedule,, I hope you enjoy !

Hecate is exhausted.

Today was her father’s funeral—and while she is not particularly sorry to see the man gone, pretending that she’s upset is rather a chore especially when one is suddenly the richest landowner and aristocrat in England. A veil can only do so much to protect eye rolls and scowls from scrutiny, and she is not thrilled at the prospect of keeping this charade up for another six months as is the customary mourning period for a parent.

Add six unruly daughters under the age of ten, it’s safe to say that Hecate is on the brink of aneurysm after today—even with the girl’s governess, Miss Hubble, looking after them there had been a fair share of whinging and complaining of ‘Why can’t I wear my _pink_ dress’ and ‘Why does Grandpapa need a party if he can’t be here?’. Baby Sibyl—though, Hecate supposes she isn’t so much of a baby anymore at three years old—wouldn’t cease her crying for attention throughout the entire affair until Hecate finally gave in and sat her on her lap for the rest of the ceremony. Tomorrow she’ll berate Miss Hubble for allowing that to continue but for now she simple doesn’t have the energy required to do so.

Hecate rips the veil from her hair and begins to untie it. Normally she’d call for her lady’s maid to undo her hair but after she helped her out of her dress she found she could no longer tolerate people and resigned herself to doing it on her own. The children should all be asleep by now, and the staff settling down too which is good for then, perhaps, the normally insomniac Hecate may be able to get some sleep.

After taking her hair down completely and brushing it out herself, she finds her reflection glaring back at her. It’s true that her and her daughters have spent far too long in black over the years—in fact, she sometimes struggles to remember a time when she was out of it—and it seems it’s taken a toll on her. Hecate has never been vain enough to consider herself a great beauty (the only people with that opinion are as naïve as they are young, but it does make her smile a little when her children tell her so before she’s leaving them for a ball, or gathering or something else of the like) and so is not dreadfully upset at the lines that are now permanently etched onto her face but does note that when she turned twenty-nine, some eight years ago now, her skin was a smooth as the day she was born.

_Ah,_ well. Whether that’s a product of time or husbands Hecate isn’t sure but it’s most definitely one of them.

With a sigh the duchess stands from her vanity table and makes for her bed before a rattling and clopping of a carriage outside her window catches her attention and she finds herself peering into the night. It’s dark, but she can make out a carriage headed towards the long-abandoned estate that neighbours her own and then, in the distance, going through its gates. Hecate raises an eyebrow at the sight, a little curious as to who could be moving in at such an hour but finds herself too tired to think upon it much longer.

So Hecate closes the window and heads to bed, covering herself in blankets and—for the first time in as long as she can remember—falls asleep as soon as she hits the pillow.

* * *

Mildred knows she really shouldn’t be awake this early, and that Mama will surely be livid when she finds out, but as her and Enid wait outside Ethel’s bedroom before the sun’s up with handfuls of snails she can’t help but think that this will most definitely be worth it.

She puts a free finger to her lips and slowly pushes the door open, careful not to wake her sister who’s asleep in her enormous four poster bed. Enid stifles a giggle.

“You’re going to get slime on your face!” She whispers and gets shushed immediately but Mildred smiles right back at her. She nods at Enid, and they tiptoe to both sides of Ethel’s bed and start to arrange the snails carefully over and under the sheets, edging closer and closer to the pitifully unconscious Ethel.

Enid puts a knee up onto the sheets and leans further forward putting a snail on Ethel’s covered leg. Mildred lets out a snigger before covering her hand over her mouth and freezing as their victim moves, Enid’s eyes wide and body shaking a little in fear that she should she wake up. Mildred, petrified, waits entirely still for a minute until it becomes clear that they haven’t woken her up and then both of them scramble out as quietly and quickly as they can.

Once they get back to Enid’s bedroom, which is closer than Mildred’s, they both erupt in a fountain of giggles.

“We’ve _got_ tell Maud about this, when we see he in town tomorrow!” Enid exclaims, throwing the bags they used to collect the snails under her bed. “She’ll think us awful, but Ethel had it coming especially after she pushed you into the mud at Grandpapa’s funeral.”

Mildred grins. “Now she’ll know that just because she’s the eldest, doesn’t mean she can boss us about.”

“I still think they could have made a mistake.” Enid says. “I mean, you’re twins. And babies all look the same, mostly. They could have gotten you muddled up, and you could be the oldest.”

“Well, I don’t think that Mama would like it of you said that.” Mildred shakes her head. “Anyway, I should get back to my room before Miss Hubble finds me out of bed. I don’t want to get in trouble any sooner than necessary.”

Enid nods and hugs her elder sister briefly. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

Mildred nods and climbs back out the window, and then up the trellis which leads to her own bedroom window which is directly above Enid’s. Mildred is older, by just under a year, but the gap is so minimal that they’ve never felt it particularly—and even if Ethel is her twin, she’s always felt much closer with Enid.

It takes about another twenty minutes for them to be notified of Ethel’s awakening when a high-pitched screech echoes throughout the manor.

Mildred cannot help but giggle into her pillow and imagines that Enid is doing much the same downstairs.

A short while later the maid comes in and dresses her, shortly followed by an unimpressed looking Mrs Hubble tells her to get ready for breakfast. They’re still in mourning which means they all have to wear black, Miss Hubble said that they’ll have to be for a while yet, but truthfully Mildred isn’t bothered what she wears as long as she can move in it. The maid ties her hair up elaborately—in braids, for Mildred, because they all have a unique style—and by the end Mildred’s practically bouncing up and down in her seat because it’s taking far too long and she just wants to go and see Enid at breakfast.

“There we go, Lady Mildred.” The maid says with a smile, and on cue Miss Hubble opens the door where Clarice and Felicity are already waiting, their rooms being on the same floor as Mildred’s.

“Come on, Lady Mildred. We must be getting on.” Miss Hubble is giving her a look which says _I know what you’ve done_ but Mildred can’t find it within herself to care, so happy with her ingenious actions of earlier. Clarice looks up at her, through her little spectacles that the eye doctor gave her when they realised that her walking into walls as a baby wasn’t just because she’s trying to make her nannies laugh.

“Why do you look so happy?”

Mildred tries to stop smiling. “I don’t.”

“You _do._ You never look that happy in the mornings.”

“I don’t look any different from normal, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Clarice, with all the judgment a four-year-old can muster, narrows her eyes at her elder sister but says nothing. Felicty sighs, pulling at her black skirts. “I certainly can’t see what anyone has to be happy about now. Mama had _just_ bought me three new gowns—and she finally let me have a pink one, for my birthday, and now I can’t even wear them just because old _Grandpapa_ just died!”

“Lady Felicity!” Miss Hubble gives her a look, and Felicity turns red at the admonishment. “That’s no way to speak about your grandfather, and you know it.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Hubble.” She says, looking down.

They arrive on the bottom floor where they retrieve Sibyl and then Enid, who is smirking at Mildred and falls a little back with her—thick as thieves—which leaves only Ethel’s room.

“Did you hear the scream?” Enid whispers, grabbing Mildred’s hand.

“I think America must have heard it!” Mildred giggles.

“They’re just snails, I don’t know why she has to be so dramatic all the time.” Enid rolls her eyes. “I mean, if it was me, I’d be quite happy to have snails all in my room. I even asked Mama if I could keep one, as a pet, but she said no.”

“You shouldn’t have asked. You should have just kept one secret. You must have _known_ she’d never say yes.”

“Well, she let us have cats. I thought perhaps she might see that they’re really not that different.”

Clarice, who’s just in front of them, turns around with a frown. “That was stupid. I’m not really sure how snails and cats could be any more different.”

“Uh, they’re both animals?”

Clarice looks as if she’s going to retort but before she can, an angry looking Ethel storms out of her room with a murderous glare straight for her twin. “I am going to gut you, Mildred!”

Mildred holds in a snigger as Ethel starts to run at her but Miss Hubble jumps in the way and holds her back. “Ethel Hardbroom—you will stay calm thank you very much. Your mother would be very disappointed with that sort of behaviour from you.”

“Mildred put snails on me while I was sleeping! You saw them, Miss Hubble, it’s not fair! She should be punished!”

“Now, we don’t know that it was Mildred yet.” A rather exasperated Miss Hubble tells her, though knows that, historically speaking, Mildred likely is very much involved. No matter what’s gone on though, they’re already late for breakfast and it wouldn’t do to dawdle around the corridors anymore while they’re mother is waiting for them in the dining room. “But I promise we’ll get to the bottom of this later. For now, you all need to behave yourself properly for breakfast.”

There’s a response of ‘yes, Miss Hubble’ from about half of the girls and a ‘that’s be hard for Mildred’ but the governess really wasn’t expecting anything better than that so just lets it go.

When they do make it to the dining room, Lady Hardbroom is sat at the head of the table reading a newspaper with a small plate of fruit in front of her. To their credit, all the girls take their seats quietly—Ethel looking at her twin so furiously that, could looks kill, Mildred would be a goner—apart from Sybil who runs straight up to her mother and holds her hands up to be picked up.

“Let me sit with you, Mama.” She says, batting her big blue eyes.

Lady Hardbroom looks very uncomfortable and looks up to the governess. “Miss Hubble, please take Sybil to her seat.”

“No!” Sybil frowns and stomps her feet. “Mama!”

“Now, come on Sybil. Be a big girl and sit on your own chair, next to Enid.”

“I don’t want to!”

Enid stands up and kneels before her half-sister. “Come on Sybil, sit next to me. I promise we’ll play later if you do, and you can ride on my shoulders if you do.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Now come on.”

Sybil, fortunately rather easily swayed, dutifully goes with Enid to sit and take her breakfast properly. Miss Hubble mouths a _thank you_ to Enid though finds herself feeling a little bad for the youngest of the girls. Little Sybil is rather desperate for a parental figure, and while Miss Hubble tries her best to help where she can her employer has always made the distinction between classes very apparent to the children and simply wouldn’t approve of that type of affection should the governess attempt it with any of the children. The youngest is the most sensitive soul of them all, and it’s a shame that Lady Hardbroom doesn’t seem to reciprocate of any of her attempts at closeness affectionately, especially given that she doesn’t have a father alive to make up for it.

“Mama?” Ethel says as the footman serves the girls their own breakfasts, which causes Lady Hardbroom to look up from her paper somewhat reluctantly. Miss Hubble already knows what she’s going to say but prays to God she doesn’t. “Mildred left snails in my bed this morning when I woke up, and Miss Hubble has done _nothing_ about it. You should fire her for incompetency.”

“That’s not true!” Mildred bursts at once, and Enid repeats the sentiment.

Lady Hardbroom looks towards the governess for an explanation. “We’re going to discuss it after breakfast, milady. Because I’m not quite certain that it was Mildred yet, you see, but I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of it.”

“See that you do.” Lady Hardbroom inclines her head.

Ethel scoffs. “Who else could it be? It’s _always_ Mildred because she’s jealous of me, because _I’m_ the heir.”

“I’d rather inherit nothing that be like you.” Enid fires back.

“ _Enid.”_ Lady Hardbroom says, putting the paper down. “How many times have I told you to think before you speak, young lady?”

“But Ethel—”

“I’ll not have you talk back, either.” She narrows her eyes. “That’s enough from you, too, Ethel. Now, can we not have _one_ meal without this infantile squabbling, hmm?”

Disheartened, both Enid and Ethel look down into their bowls and continue in silence. Lady Hardbroom takes her paper back up and begins to read again, posture stiff and uncomfortable.

One of the footmen enters the dining room with a bow. “Two letters for you, milady.”

Lady Hardbroom nods. “Very good. Bring them here.”

Mildred sighs. “Why don’t _we_ ever get any letters.”

Lady Hardbroom looks mildly amused at that comment. “Because, Mildred, I daresay you know very few people that aren’t under this roof. Believe me, though, most letter aren’t a joy to receive.”

The rest of the breakfast takes place in silence, and the girls are then dismissed to go to their lessons.

* * *

“You’re standing on my toe!”

“Shut up!”

Clarice huffs. “Move!” She pushes Enid off her, which grants her a dirty look. That’s hardly the priority though, as the girls watch the strangers in the house next door taking tea in the garden. Mildred, for her part, has never seen anyone over there and is quite intrigued, especially given the violently pink dress the new figure is sporting.

Felicity sighs. “Isn’t she beautiful? Mama would never let me wear something like that. My pink dress is so pale it barely qualifies.”

“She looks a bit like a fairy cake.” Enid wrinkles her nose.

“I like fairy cakes!” Sybil grins and runs right out of the bush their hiding behind towards the woman.

“Sybil!” Mildred cries, and tries to grab her arm but the three-year-old is a little too fast. “Sybil, get back here!”

Enid shakes her head. “I say we leave her and run. I’ve already lost dessert for two weeks because of the snail thing, and I don’t want an early bedtime too.” Enid and Mildred did end up confessing to their little crime from this morning, grudgingly.

“We can’t just leave her. What is the lady kidnaps her?” Clarice says.

Felicity frowns. “Pretty people don’t kidnap other people. Especially not someone pretty like her.”

“Mama would kill us for talking to strangers!”

“I’m going to get her.” Mildred sprints out of the bush towards her sister and scoops her up before she can too far. “Come on, Sybil, we need to go back.”

Sybil pouts. “Put me down! I’m not a baby.”

“Well, if you’re not a baby then you know better than to run into strangers—”

“Are you alright, young lady?”

Mildred freezes at the new voice, and sees the pink lady approaching them from where she was sat. Up close Mildred can confirm, as Felicity had said, that this lady is very pretty even if her dress is extremely poufy and…well, pink. She clears her throat and laughs awkwardly. “Uh, I’m sorry, my sister ran out here and I came to get her. We’re neighbours, we live next door in the big manor.”

“That’s perfectly alright.” The woman squats down to their level. “I’m Miss Pentangle, it’s nice tpo meet you.” She offers Mildred a hand, but Sybil is the one to take it.

“I’m Sybil!” The little girl grins, and Miss Pentangle chuckles. Mildred is honestly surprised at this reaction—if two rogue children had approached her Mama the lady in question would have bordering angry, nothing like the new neighbour who is rather delightful as it turns out.

“I’m Mildred Hardbroom.” She supplies.

“Nice to meet you, Sybil, Mildred. I have been meaning to visit the fabled Hardbrooms for a while now but have never gotten around to it, but now that we’re neighbours, I have no excuse—and I must say, you are very sweet. Would you care for some tea? I have some strawberry biscuits which are simple divine, and I daresay you’ll like them a lot.”

Mildred can’t really see any harm in it—given that this lady is being nice, and she _is_ their neighbour after all. They should be _neighbourly,_ and if they get biscuits out of it then it’s just a plus. “Yes, please. Do you mind if we call over our other sisters, they’re hiding in the bush?”

Miss Pentangle chuckles. “Of course. The more the merrier!”

Sybil shouts at then to come along, and Felicity wastes no time in running over, shortly followed by a curious Enid and more cautious Clarice. Ethel, in true Ethel fashion, is back in the manor since she’s being stubborn and refusing to play with the others for now as if they’ll somehow miss her. It’s rather nice to have tea with a new person—Mama never had guests around anymore, and except from the girls like Maud and Beatrice they occasionally meet in the village they never meet anyone new—and it certainly helps that Miss Pentangle is funny and kind and has very nice pink biscuits.

Mildred, and the rest of her present sisters, find they like this Miss Pentangle very much indeed.

* * *

Hecate bites her lip as she reads the second letter she’s received this morning. The first had been an invitation, of sorts, to the funeral of the head of the Hallow family who had been the uncle of her first husband, something she’s never going to uproot herself all the way to London for, and the latter an invitation to a soiree at the new neighbour’s residence—a woman named Miss Pippa Pentangle—next door. The thought of attending something like that sounds positively revolting to Hecate so she begins to draft a short letter to respectfully decline and wonders why she hasn’t ever heard of Miss Pentangle given the sheer amount of noble families she’s been married into at this point.

The name Pentangle does vaguely ring a bell, now she thinks about it, perhaps it was a family her father had reviewed as a prospect and ultimately declined or something of the like, but never one she came into any physical contact with which tells her they’re likely well enough off financially because she must have encountered every young man in the country hunting fortune.

She writes another brief letter—her insincere condolences to the Hallows, and inability to attend the funeral—and seals them, knowing that Ada will come around later and send them for her. Her slight curiosity about Miss Pentangle next door is heavily outweighed by her distaste for all people outside of her household, and even then, she finds that she doesn’t like many of the people within it.

With a sigh, she realises the time and heads downstairs for tea which she takes with the girls so she can hear a report of their studies for the day. It’s important that they learn as much as a boy would if they are to be heiresses one day, and so that they can make informed decisions about their own futures rather than having it dictated by an overbearing father. Hecate is not about to give them all the freedoms in the world—she is as strict and severe as she needs to be—but in matters of their own bodies, she’s not about to dictate anything to them like her father had done to her.

But today Hecate finds the drawing room empty of her children when she arrives a couple of minutes late, and the maid carrying the teapot looks a little confused. “Where are my daughters?” She asks with a frown.

“I’m not sure, milady. Miss Hubble went outside to fetch them and hasn’t come back yet.”

Hecate sighs and sits down, allowing herself a long second to close her eyes and enjoy the quiet even if she is a little annoyed at Miss Hubble’s tardiness. The door opens and she’s expecting a stampede, but it is only Ethel who strides in. “Good afternoon, Mama.” She says and sits down next to her, letting the maid pour the tea.

“Good afternoon.” Hecate glances towards her eldest daughter. “Do you happen to know where your sister’s have ended up?”

Ethel rolls her eyes. “God knows. They went outside to play after Miss Hubble finished our lessons and I haven’t seen them since. I was upstairs doing some reading because I find their games dreadfully dull—it’s more important to broaden my horizons academically, don’t you think?”

Hecate just hums gently in response and sips her tea. “I suppose. Did you look at the healing properties of plants like I instructed Miss Hubble to teach you?”

“Oh, yes.” Ethel grins rather maliciously which makes Hecate slightly nervous about what she’s going to recount. “But you won’t guess what Mildred thought was the raspberry leaf! It was rather hilarious; she took a stinging nettle and—”

The door bursts open to reveal and panting Miss Hubble and the rest of the girls, red-faced and out of breath. “I’m sorry milady, they were in a different spot today that I anticipated.” There’s something underlying in the governess’ tone and Hecate can’t quite make out what it is but inclines her head as the rest of the girls sit down around the table anyway without question.

“Thank you, Miss Hubble.”

The governess bows her head respectfully and leaves the room as the maid pours the rest of the tea, and Hecate finds herself carefully watching the grinning looks that flit between the latecomers.

Ethel’s lips curl into a smile. “Where have you been? You know better than to be late for tea, Mildred.”

Mildred glares at her. “Why are you isolating me? We were all late!”

“As the eldest present, you should know better. If I had been there, I would have gotten everyone back—”

“Well you weren’t invited, so.” Enid rolls her eyes and Hecate gives her a piercing look which makes her pipe down a little.

“What is it that took you all so long?” Hecate asks.

They look between themselves and then Enid says ‘We were finding worms’ at the same time as Felicity says ‘we were making daisy chains’.

“Daisy chains for the worms!” Mildred supplies, smiling very unconvincingly at her mother.

Hecates frowns. “I will not tolerate being lied to and shall only ask once more. What were you doing?”

Ethel is positively beaming at the impending scolding, and the girls seem to be looking between each other before Sybil comes out with: “We were having tea with the nice pink lady next door!”

“Sybil!” Enid exclaims and bats her gently on the arm.

Sybil frowns and rubs her arm. “What?”

Hecate stands—if Ethel smiles any wider then her face might crack—glare fixed on the group of them. “How _dare_ you do such a thing, when you know you may not speak to strangers, god forbid take tea with them! You shouldn’t even be without Miss Hubble at all, it is kind enough that I offer you a little time a day to play but you have violated my kindness. Beyond that, you left the property which is dangerous and—”

Mildred stands up to face her. “That’s not fair! Miss Pentangle one offered because—”

“Does it look like I _care, Mildred!”_ Hecate shouts. “I am shocked that you might even attempt to talk back to me, you wretched girl! Go to your room immediately, and do not consider it necessary to come down for dinner for you shall not be welcome! _GO!”_

Enid looks up. “But Mama—”

“Would you like to join her?!”

Enid bites her lip and shakes her head, curling in on herself while a teary-eyed Mildred runs from the room desperate not to let Mama or Ethel see her cry. Hecate leaves not long after her, positively fuming that they may have taken it upon themselves to blatantly disregard the rules she sets in place for their own safety and then try and talk back when she delivers due punishment.

Still, part of her hurts very deeply when she shouts at Mildred—and it is mostly Mildred she ends up shouting at, shortly followed by the equally troublesome albeit less honest Enid who tends to be a little better at getting away with things. The rest of them shall receive punishment too, of course, but she’ll let Miss Hubble deal with that for now for rather inexplicably she feels her chest become very tight, and her throat thick and hard to swallow.

* * *

The moon is high, and Mildred’s stomach is rumbling terrifically loud as she sits, still awake, at her window. She knows she’s basically the oldest, and she’s used to getting shouted at by Mama, but she can’t quite get herself to stop crying—nothing is _fair,_ it’s like she _enjoys_ screaming at her or something. It’s not Mildred’s fault that they just don’t see the world the same way, part of her wishes that Miss Pentangle were her mother instead. After all, they’ve only known her for one afternoon and she’s already been far nicer than Mama ever is to her.

Miss Pentangle would certainly understand her right now, Mildred’s sure of it, and she wouldn’t think it fair that Mama shouts at her all the time the way she does. In all the stories Mildred reads mother’s love their children, they spend time with them and make things better when they get hurt which makes everything so much more confusing, because Mama is the one who makes her feel hurt in the first place. Miss Hubble says she doesn’t mean it like that, that’s she’s frustrated and wants Mildred to learn from her mistakes, but it most certainly doesn’t always feel like that.

Mostly because she _never_ seems to treat any of her sisters like that, especially not Ethel.

Mildred sniffles and pushes her window open, allowing the breeze to whip her plaited hair as she sticks her head out of it. On their birthdays, she and Enid sneak into each other’s rooms at night and have sleepovers—Felicity comes too, more recently, and Mildred thinks they might be her favourite nights all year. She wishes she could talk to them now but it’s far too late for any other children to be awake, only adults might still be up at this hour.

She wonders if Miss Pentangle is still awake and concludes that she must be because she can see lights coming from the neighbouring house.

The girl bites her lip, and then cautiously sticks her leg out of the window to grip the trellis in the usual foothold. Her other leg follows it, and Mildred starts to climb down to the ground and run towards the one adult it seems is ever kind to these days.

* * *

“Please let me in!”

“No, scram girl! I’ll not have you disturbing Miss Pentangle at this hour.”

When Pippa hears her housekeeper verbally sparring with what seems to be a little girl at 10:00 at night she finds herself amusedly intrigued—this is hardly a regular occurrence, but then again, she’s new to this house and area which seems to be full of surprises. She’s still in her dinner clothes after spending the last few hours reading in her sitting room, so indulges her curiosity and steps out to see a rather muddy looking Mildred Hardbroom arguing with her housekeeper.

“What’s going on?” Pippa asks, wrapping her shawl around her.

“This little scoundrel from the village is claiming to know you. Says she needs to speak to you, the cheek!” Her housekeeper scoffs and shakes her head. “Look at the state of her!”

Mildred shivers and looks at Pippa with her big brown eyes, pleading. Pippa removes her shawl and wraps it around the little girl gently. “Mildred, what are you doing here?”

“You mean to say you know this girl, my lady?” Her housekeeper looks flabbergasted.

“We met earlier. She’s one of our new neighbours, though I can’t imagine what you’re doing here at this time of night. Come inside before you catch something, and then we’re going to have a talk.” Pippa raises an eyebrow at the little girl, but it does not seem to have been received since she receives a rather bracing hug in return.

“Thank you, thank you Miss Pentangle! I knew you’d be kind to me.”

“Come inside, Mildred.” Pippa pats her gently on the back and the points her to the door which they go through, and then redirects the girl to the sitting room. It is now that, in the light, Pippa notices that Mildred’s eyes are quite red, and there are tear steaks on her cheeks. That makes her a little nervous.

Once they’ve sat down, Pippa wastes no time. “What on earth are you doing here, Mildred? I should send someone to tell your governess where you’ve gotten to, I’m sure your mother will be dreadfully worried when she finds out your missing.”

Mildred shakes her head. “She won’t.”

Pippa frowns. “What do you mean?”

“My mother couldn’t care less what happens to me, she’ll probably be delighted when she wakes up to find her biggest problem is gone. I came over here because…well, maybe it was stupid. I just needed to be away from…everything. Her. The house. Everything.”

“I’m sure that’s not true, Mildred. I’d find it pretty impossible not to love you and your sisters, and I’ve known you for no time compared to her.” She smiles. “Did something happen to make you feel like this?”

Mildred nods and bites her lip. “Mama shouted at me, in front of everyone, because we had tea with you in the afternoon. She was so angry…and I know it’s silly, but I couldn’t stop crying and—” She sniffles, and feels her eyes start to water again. Pippa feels her gut wrench at the sight and moves forward to offer her a handkerchief. She’s always had a soft spot for children despite her lack of desire for her own.

“That’s not silly, I promise. We all get into arguments with our mothers sometimes, but it doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you. And I’m sorry that us having tea got you in trouble—perhaps in future we check with your Mama before we do anything, hmm? That includes any midnight rendezvous, don’t you think?”

Mildred smiles and wipes her eyes. “Yes. Probably.”

“I’d say certainly, and I can’t say I approve of you coming over here under these circumstances but I think, in the interest of our future friendship, we can let it go as long as you come back to your house with me now.” Pippa says as she stands.

The little girl’s eyes widen. “No! Please don’t make me.”

“I’m afraid I must, it wouldn’t do for you to stay here I’m afraid. I’d be in just as much trouble as you, and I truly do not want any reason for problems with your family. I’ll take another shawl—you keep that one—and then we should get going.”

Mildred bites her lip. “Well, if I have to go back, then there’s a trellis that goes up to my window—that’s how I snuck out. I can just go back up that.”

The blonde woman shakes her head. “I don’t think so. You need to be honest, that’s the only way you and your mother are ever going to get on. We’ll go knock on the front door.”

“No! She’s already so angry with me, it’ll only make it worse!”

Pippa leans down to Mildred’s level. “Listen, Mildred. Try and think about this from my perspective, will you? Let’s say I let you climb back into your room, but someone sees you—or you tell someone, and your governess finds out by accident. I’ll be in an awful lot of trouble, imagine, it’ll look I’d kidnapped you or lured you out of your window! That certainly wouldn’t do, especially if you and your sisters want to come back for tea someday. Be honest, and your mother will be angry for a time but, as all times do, it’ll pass and soon enough everything will go back to normal, I promise.”

Mildred sighs, evidently reluctant, but after a moment nods.

Pippa beams. “That’s brilliant. Now, let’s get you back home, hmm? I’m sure it’s well past your bedtime.”

“Later than I’ve ever been before, except for on Enid’s birthday last year!” Mildred tells her with a small smile.


	2. Chapter 2

Hecate sighs as her lady’s maid ties her hair up, staring at the dark circles under her eyes that are much more prominent than they were yesterday. It certainly doesn’t seem fair that the little demons she birthed can have this effect on her, but still the fact remains that she was half-awake all night pushing down all her guilty and gloomy feelings as has becomes tradition when it comes to Mildred.

There’s a knock on her door—on time as ever, it’s bound to be Ada—so Hecate tells her to come in. The housekeeper that Hecate’s known since she herself was a child comes in, nodding at the maid to take her leave once she’s done.

“I just wanted to update you in regard to the events of last night, my lady.” Ada says, threading her fingers together a little uncomfortably.

Hecate frowns. “Last night?”

“I’m afraid you were already asleep when Lady Mildred turned up at the front door with Miss Pentangle from next door, and I didn’t want to wake you. I’ve let Miss Hubble know and Mildred is to be confined to her room for the next few days, but I thought it best to let you know too.”

“I’m sorry, what happened? I don’t understand.”

“It seems that late last night Lady Mildred snuck out of the house somehow and ran to Miss Pentangle next door, who brought her back straight away—personally, I must admit, while I was a little apprehensive of her to begin with, she seemed very good about the entire affair.”

Hecate frowns and feels herself tense. “I disagree entirely! If she hadn’t lured the children into her garden yesterday, then none of this ever would have happened—it’s entirely despicable. Mildred would _never_ have attempted to leave at night like that if it weren’t for her! You surely cannot view this woman in a positive light.”

The housekeeper shrugs. “I think it’s something you might want to speak to Mildred about, should you want to identify her true motivations.”

Hecate shakes her head. “Nonsense. I shall write Miss Pentangle and inform her to stay away from Mildred.”

Somewhat reluctant, Ada says “Very good, my lady.”, while opening the door for Lady Hardbroom to go to breakfast.

* * *

Breakfast is an event taken in silence after Enid’s questions regarding the whereabouts of Mildred are quickly shut down. Hecate is in two minds about it—part of her is delighted at this respite of noise in the morning which is almost never achieved given the rowdy nature of her most troublesome daughter but the empty chair by Felicity does leave the room feeling a little…incomplete.

Eventually, it is Felicity who attempts to brighten them up. “Mama, Miss Pentangle says she sent an invitation to a soiree at her house for this Saturday. Are we going to attend, I think it would be terrific!”

Hecate represses the urge to scoff. “I think not. Finish your porridge, Felicity, before it gets cold.”

The girl frowns and bites her lip, pushing the food around with no intention of putting in her mouth having already picked out all the fruits that were in it. A footman enters the room with a tray of newspaper and letters, and Hecate accepts them gratefully.

She’ll read the paper later, so for now hands it to Ethel—the only one of the children bothered by current events—and takes a knife to open the letter, once again from the dreadful Hallows.

_To whom it may concern,_

_The following request lies in the final will and testament of one Lucian Hallow, in regard to the children of his deceased nephew—husband to Duchess Hecate Hardbroom—and they’re place of residence, as agreed with her father:_

_Should the girls, who are very dear to the Hallow family, be left without a father figure at the time of Lucian Hallow’s death it is his final wish that they be moved to the Hallow state to be raised in a more loving and inclusive environment. As a male landowner in the United Kingdom, the wishes of the late Lord Hallow outweigh any by female relations and therefore makes this request legal and binding._

_Yours Faithfully,_

_Egbert Helibore, Lawyer for the Hallow family._

It seems that Hecate’s eyes have been increasingly widening as she read that letter, because when she looks up, she’s getting an array of odd looks from all the present children. Ethel has even put down the paper.

“Is everything alright, Mama?” Ethel asks.

“Yes, yes, of course.” Hecate stands up a little too fast and scrunches the letter in her hand. “Go to your lessons, and do not bother me for the rest of the day.”

She spins on her heel and marches out of the room, leaving a very confused Miss Hubble to take the girls to their lessons.

* * *

Ada frowns, glasses on, reading the letter for a second time while Hecate sits at her desk tapping her foot against the floor impatiently. She fully intends to call her lawyer at some point, but the truth is given the amount of scandals that occurred involving her parents while they were still alive Ada’s seen more than enough of the law in the past that she’s bound to be able to figure out if this is some kind of sick practical joke or a serious request that Hecate is law-bound to respond to. Well, it’s never going to be a question of whether or not she’s going to give up her daughters to be raised elsewhere—that’s _never_ going to happen, she’d rather die than see them taken away—but what she might have to do to convince the Hallows out of this arrangement that her stupid, misogynistic, brain-dead father had agreed to much to his daughter’s ignorance.

“I’m not sure there’s really an enormous amount we can do about this, given who their father is—and that your father agreed to it. There are signatures.” Ada sighs, setting it down on the table. Hecate shakes her head.

“I do not accept that! It’s so obvious what’s going on here, and I shall not allow it to happen while there is breath in my body.”

Hecate’s heir, given that she has no son, is Ethel, and then Mildred is next line—of course, all of her daughters will receive a vast dowry when they come of age but all of her land, her estate, and the bulk of her wealth shall go to Ethel upon her own death. Should she be raised by Hallows then everything essentially goes to them, it’s no secret that they’ve being trying to betroth their sons with the girls since they were born, which Hecate has steadfastly refused, but this seems to be the final straw. Giving Ethel and Mildred to the Hallows would be giving them everything she owns, everything that’s been in her family for centuries, and the very thought of that makes her feel a little ill.

It will not do. It will not do at all.

“For now, I shall ignore it then. Until we can come up with something better. I’m quite sure they won’t be paid off, not given what they could have should they get the girls, so…” Hecate rips the letter up into tiny pieces and then blows the pieces though an open window, letting them float away. “Nothing to worry about.”

“You know it will not be that easy, my lady.” Ada raises an eyebrow.

Hecate sits down and makes a noise that could be mistaken for petulant. “No. But it may buy me more time, something that I am certainly in need of. This is my entire fortune and estate at risk.”

“Forgive me, my lady, but it’s also your daughter’s upbringing at risk too. The education you give them, which is far more advanced than that of any other girls will most certainly be abolished, and you would likely not be able to see them.” Ada says, almost tentatively. She looks at Hecate as if she’s completely muddled up her priorities, and likely believes she has.

Hecate looks out the window and takes a deep breath, digging her nails into her palm. “I know.” She says, a little more softly.

Ada moves a closer to her, not anywhere near enough to touch her—Hecate’s never particularly enjoyed much contact ever since she was a child—but enough to let the duchess know that she’s there for her, for them. “I’m sure everything will work out in the end, my lady. It always does.”

“Does it?” Hecate shakes her head and unclenches her hands when she feels a trickle of red come from a crescent shape cut in her palm. “I’m not so sure.”

It is no mystery, to Ada at least, the instances that she is referring to. “If that is true, my lady,” The housekeeper who is more of a friend to her employer than staff starts. “Then perhaps you should be taking the time you have left to spend time with the girls, in the unfortunate event that things do not sort themselves out. I know that they’d appreciate that, and Ethel’s been working very hard on her studies to improve them. I’m sure she’d love to show you.”

Hecate contemplates this for a moment, before eventually nodding—once, firmly—and standing up. “Perhaps…you are right. Mildred is still in her punishment, but I think I shall go and see to Ethel. Are the girls in lessons?”

“Not at this time, my lady.” Ada tells her. “Miss Hubble always lets the girls out for some free time about now, mostly they go outside but Ethel will often remain to work a little more. I can’t say for sure where she’ll be this moment, but it won’t take overly long to find her. I can send Miss Hubble out, if you like.”

“That’s alright. I…could appreciate the quiet to think as I search.” Hecate tells her. “Thank you. For your help.”

Ada smiles her. “Never a problem, and you never have to thank me, my lady.”

Hecate offers her a weak smile before leaving the room.

* * *

Pippa Pentangle is still suffering a little shock from the events of last night, given that a child showing up at one’s doorstep is not something that tends to happen in her life (or most peoples, she imagines), but that is not to say she put off, so to speak. She received a decline to her invitation though really hadn’t expected any different—if anything Mildred had to say is true then Pippa doesn’t imagine the famous Duchess Hardbroom has much time for such frivolities, nor that her temperament might be agreeable with them. At least, not now that she has actual say in the matter.

She also acknowledges that, given the reaction of her tea with the girls yesterday, she really shouldn’t partake again. At least, not so soon. She thinks the girls are lovely, of course, and has always loved the company of children but she is still relatively a stranger to them at present and doesn’t think that she’s made a brilliant impression on their mother despite her best intentions.

This is why, when little Sybil climbs up into her lap from behind that afternoon, her first reaction is to tell her that she must go. But the girl is a clingy little creature, and Pippa can’t help but relent and smile. Lady Hardbroom will forgive her, probably.

Sybil leans against her chest and takes a little biscuit from the saucer on the table. “Can I please eat this, Miss?”

Before Pippa can reply, the rest of the brood save Mildred has arrived at the table. “Sybil!” The leader who must be Ethel, the eldest that she did not meet yesterday. “I told you not to go up to the stranger. Come back, now!”

Enid rolls her eyes and walks in front of her. “Miss Pentangle isn’t a stranger anymore.”

“And mother was livid at you for doing this yesterday—I’m not getting involved. Come on, let’s _go._ ”

“I want to stay with Miss!” Sybil cries and rather surprises Pippa by throwing her arms around her neck. “You can’t make me go!”

Ethel scoffs. “Watch me.”

Pippa stands up, sliding Sybil onto her hip, and offers her free hand to Ethel with a rather awkward smile. “You must be Lady Ethel, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Miss Pentangle.”

The girl looks at her hand as if it’s some sort of mousetrap but then takes it hesitantly. “It’s nice to meet you, but we really should get going. It seems none of my sister’s care about getting in trouble, and it’s my responsibility to get them back. I don’t want to end up locked in my room like Mildred.”

“You’re right, of course. I really don’t want to cause any trouble for you girls.” She tries to put Sybil down, but the girl seems rather determined to remain in her grasp.

“You know Ethel, Miss Pentangle came out here from London on a locomotive.” Enid says with a deceptively innocent expression. “A real, live locomotive. And I know you’ve been reading about those.”

The eldest girl looks towards Pippa. “Is that true?”

Pippa is not entirely sure how this changes anything but doesn’t see why lying would change this situation at all so just nods and smiles at the girl. “I did.”

Ethel looks contemplative. “I suppose we can stay for a _little while._ Only so long as Miss Pentangle can tell me all about the locomotive since Mama will never let us go on one, and I’ve been desperate to find about them.”

Felicity makes a noise of excitement, and Sybil practically climbs Pippa like a monkey to wraps her arms around her in a hug again. It occurs to Pippa that she hasn’t actually invited them to stay at any point, but she’s secretly rather happy at the company so it not about to turn them away. And if Ethel wants to hear about her travel exploits then she’s more than happy to indulge her, because she does have to admit she finds the modern transport rather exciting herself.

“Can we have the pink biscuits again, Miss Pentangle?” Little Clarice asks, with big eyes through her spectacles.

“You may have one each. I hardly need you getting any more trouble.” Pippa says, sitting herself back down with Sybil still on her. “Now, what is it you want to know about the locomotives?”

Ethel smiles. “Well, I read that they run on a coal—”

* * *

Hecate’s walked almost the entirety of the allotted gardens that the girls play in and has seen none of them, which is suspicious in itself given that they’re supposed to be all together and Ethel would rather be caught dead than break rules when Mildred is already being rather thoroughly punished as it is. It makes her a little nervous, given yesterday’s debacle, but she doesn’t believe that with the eldest sibling there they would get up to any trouble.

She realises that, in this, she is sorely mistaken when the hears the distant ringing of her children’s laughter.

Frowning upon realisation that this noise is very much not coming from her own land, Hecate walks up to see a woman dressed in pink sitting with her girls, having tea and laughing. God, even _Ethel_ is giggling which is a sight entirely foreign to Hecate—and Sybil, _her baby,_ is sitting on that woman’s lap snuggling onto her. They’ve only known this woman for two days—and against Hecate’s warnings!—and now she’s somehow lured them back into her grasp like some sort of felon.

Perhaps she is felon, perhaps she’s dangerous. Hecate shakes her head. She’s certainly going to have to get someone to investigate the background of this _Miss Pentangle_ because Hecate, for one, has never hated a person so quickly and more intensely in her entire life.

(This is not really justifiable—Hecate hasn’t had much reason to like _anyone_ in the first place through her life and has had far more reason for hate than this, but there is something about watching _her_ girls be so happy with this stranger in a way they never are with her that makes her blood absolutely boil. She doesn’t—it’s not about— _uh!_ )

Hecate decides she cannot bear to watch this play out any longer so puts on her best visage of false nicety and makes her way over to the table. She is aware that her false niceties have never been very convincing.

Once she comes into view the laughter quickly stops.

“My apologies for interrupting.” She says in a very passive aggressive tone. “But it is time the girls went home, don’t you think?”

Ethel looks mortified. “I’m sorry Mama! It was all Sybil’s fault, she—”

“We’ll discuss this later. Now go back to the house.” She commands them, and even Sybil seems put out enough to slip of Pippa’s lap and scuttle off with her hand in Felicity’s.

Hecate then spins around to face her atrociously pink neighbour. “Miss Pentangle. I have heard an awful lot about you but have yet to meet you in the flesh.”

Miss Pentangle smiles at her, standing and offering her hand. “And you must be the famous Lady Hecate Hardbroom. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

It doesn’t occur to Hecate that this Miss Pentangle—who she was shaking with hate for not five minutes ago—might be the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen in her life. But now she’s looking at her properly, at her big brown eyes and her elaborate blonde styled hair and far too extravagant puff-sleeved frock she cannot help the shiver that runs down her spine and she abruptly takes the other woman’s hand. If Miss Pentangle notices this sheer array of awkward and inappropriate thought, she does not show it.

The duchess quickly drives such musings from her mind in hot embarrassment, and tries to channel that hate she was feeling again.

“It’s lovely to finally meet you, your daughters are simply delightful! I thought it might be difficult to make friends in a new town like this, I’ve heard about how inclusive the country can be sometimes, and your girls aren’t what I was expecting but they’ve certain been a pleasure to talk to!”

Hecate blinks. “I’m sure. But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t interact with them in future, to avoid…problems like that of last night.”

Miss Pentangle frowns. “Oh. If that’s what you think best, but it is a shame. I do love to spend time with children and must admit in terribly jealous of you—six daughters! And all such lively and bright ones at that, but unique and sure of themselves! It’s a wonder that your household manages to keep up with them.”

“Well. Yes.” Hecate has never felt so clueless about how to respond in all her life. “It’s just that I don’t appreciate what appears to be going on here.”

“What are you implying?”

Hecate just narrows her eyes and crosses her arms at the woman.

“I must say, if your implication is that I’ve in any way not been anything but kind to your children then I detest it! And if you don’t wish for them to come out to see me then perhaps you should give them a little more attention that isn’t in the action of scolding because they all seem completely thrilled when I offer them even a few minutes of my time. Maybe if you showed them anything more than distain, they wouldn’t come running to me! And I do not care for this conversation to continue any longer, so I bid you good day!”

Miss Pentangle rings a bell, presumably for servants to come and clean up after tea, and then briskly walks through a back door of her manor before Hecate can conjure any sort of response. One thing she wishes she could have said, though, is that she has never been more appalled by any adult’s display of inappropriate behaviour than that she just witnessed.

(It does not even occur to wonder whether that’s being a little hypocritical or not).

* * *

It is fair to say that, when Hecate returns to the house, she is equally shocked and disturbed by the display in front of her.

Ethel is nowhere to be seen, Enid and Clarice are quietly whispering to each other in the corner of the drawing room while Felicity and Miss Hubble are trying to console a crying Sybil who, it seems, is unresponsive to their efforts. She receives dual glares from the pair in the corner as she enters, but she does not deem that worthy of a response.

“What is going on here?” She demands, which causes Little Sybil to turn around and cry out even louder. “Miss Hubble, please quiet the child or remove her from the room.”

Miss Hubble kneels down and scoops Sybil up. “There, there—lets calm down now, hmm?” It doesn’t work, and so—with an apologetic look to the other girls—the governess leaves them to the mercy of their mother.

Hecate looks at them for a long moment. “Where is Ethel?”

“She went to her room.” Felicity tells her. “I think she was upset too.”

“Well, she should be. You all know _far better_ than to blatantly disregard my instructions like that—I would have thought that Mildred’s example might have been enough to show you the consequences but apparently I cannot get through to you anymore.” Her tone is harsh and cold but she hopes it’ll get the message through to them.

“But we didn’t break any rules!” Clarice, at the mighty age of four and a half stands up with a frown. “ _You_ were angry at us for speaking to strangers before, and at Mildred for being irresponsible and talking back, but Miss Pentangle isn’t a stranger anymore, so we actually didn’t do anything wrong.”

Hecate thinks she’s going to have a mental breakdown.

“ _Hush, girl_ —you know better, as you just said yourself, than to talk _back.”_

“She’s right, though.” Enid chimes as a murderous headache starts to form behind Hecate’s eyes. “You can’t just make up rules because you don’t like Miss Pentangle and then get angry at us. It’s not _fair—_ and if Clarice can work that out then you should be able to too. Couldn’t you see how upset Sybil was?”

And, there, the headache explodes in full swing.

“ _Silence!_ All of you, to your rooms, you can have your maids brings you dinner because I do not want to see anyone else for the rest of the day. _Go!”_

They may have just had somewhat of a rebellious moment, but none of them lack the self-preservation not to leave the room rather quickly at this point. Once they’re gone, Hecate lets herself fall into an armchair and clutch her head which is so full of anger and hurt and fear and jealousy for her girls, Miss Pentangle, the Hallows—herself. She doesn’t _want_ to be angry with them, she hates to see Sybil cry, and she might be breaking her own rules but it doesn’t matter because she’s their _mother_ and that, in itself, is far more than she ever got as a child so she cannot comprehend why they are not _grateful_.

It’s not her fault they have an incessant need to frustrate her! From Enid’s pranks to the petty feud between Mildred and Ethel—Felicity’s whining, Clarice’s smart mouthing and never-ending babying Sybil needs Hecate can’t do everything. If children are supposed to be seen and not heard, then how is it that she has managed to procure herself a band of screeching parrots in their place?

And she doesn’t mean to upset them, she _really_ doesn’t. But without hard discipline how else is she supposed to shape them into the best people they can be—it’s the only way she knows how to help them, to guide them because it’s the only way _she_ was ever taught. As it is, her father saw her for thirty minutes each day after dinner for a brief conversation and she tries to make sufficient time for all of them throughout the day in between her duties with tenants and finances that she has had to quickly takeover with her father’s death. She had thought it had been enough, but she’s never felt further from them, stagnant in her inability to do anything about it.

With the prospect of her two eldest being taken away from her, Hecate can feel nothing but terrified but had resolved to fight it with everything she has. Though now, as pain rips through her cranium, she wonders if their upbringing here is so horrid that they might be happier away from her—if Mildred felt more comfortable with the pink stranger after one afternoon, so much so that she deemed it the right decision to run away, is it fair of Hecate to keep her in a place she clearly resents to much?

“Ugh!” She exclaims as she bashes her head in attempt to clear the pain, but it only worsens. Everything seems to be a mess, and all she wants is for time to stop and give her a moment to _think_ but it never seems to.

The pain in her head eventually dissipates, but Hecate goes to bed that night alone and tearful.

* * *

The months go by and the letters from the Hallows requesting audience from Hecate and the girls become ever more aggressive as times go on, but Hecate continues to rip them up and throw them through her window as if she never got them. She called her lawyer and discussed it, but after determining that, given her own father’s agreement to the terms, she has very little wiggle room legally she fires him in a moment of rage. She could get married again, she supposes, and that would provide the male figure the Hallows are basing their argument on but the truth is, after five marriages resulting in death already Hecate has become a little of a black widow in the aristocratic community, and even if she was open to remarrying there are few who would brave the supposed curse it seems was put on her even in favour of the fortune that comes with her.

And as much as she initially resented Miss Pentangle, after weeks of whining from the girls about her she consented to twice weekly afternoon teas with her incorrigible neighbour that the children are so fond of supervised by Miss Hubble which is _fine (_ as Hecate keeps reminding herself) since she herself has no obligation to observe these interactions.

One unfortunate development, however, is that she cannot get the Pentangle woman out of her head despite their very minimal interactions—none of them remotely friendly. Her striking appearance, of course, is a factor but the way she spoke struck Hecate deeply in parts of her heart she hadn’t been aware she possessed.

_Maybe if you showed them something more than disdain, they wouldn’t come running to me!_

While Hecate may resent the fact that someone she barely knows assumed themselves important enough to speak to her in such a manner, she cannot deny that there does seem to be some element of truth to it. One that’s she’s begun to pick up on as time goes on—things she never noticed before, like the tremble on Sybil’s lip when she turns her away, or the way Mildred plays with her hair when she’s being routinely berated. Nervous habits that Hecate’s _made_ them pick up to the point where their mother has become a source of—as Miss Pentangle so eloquently illustrated—disdain.

And because Hecate is very much aware of how much this feeling hurts, and how much—in the unlikely her girls do get taken away—she most certainly does not want to be remembered this way and so resolves that she must attempt to try and turn things around, even just a little. She used to spend all day playing with Ethel, Mildred and Enid when they were babies—when they used to toddle around on their chubby little legs and run to her when they tripped or stubbed their tiny toes. Over the years it seems she’s lost time for them, and inadvertently forgot how to make them smile and giggle as they used to.

Her task begins with her eldest, Ethel, who has a passion for…well, pleasing her mother, it seems. The girl’s time is spent predominantly reading and studying her classes, which does please Hecate because it make her happy to see her heir taking the rare education she’s been given with open arms but sometimes it’s questionable whether she’s doing so for the right reasons. Outside of this, Hecate (to her own shame) doesn’t really know what Ethel likes to do but deems her limited knowledge enough to formulate a plan of how she can appeal a little more to her daughter.

The need for this becomes apparent when she walks into the girl’s classroom and six pairs of eyes shoot up at her in apprehension.

“My apologies for the interruption.” She says to their mathematics tutor. “But I am going to borrow Ethel for the rest of the day, if that’s alright.”

It’s not really presented as a question one could refuse, so the tutor nods and a nervous looking Ethel stands up and follows her mother out of the classroom. “Whatever happened, I promise it was Mildred’s fault.”

Hecate shakes her head. “You’re not in trouble. I…I want to show you something.”

“Like…a new study, or something?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

“Oh.” Ethel moves her hands down to play with her skirts because she cannot fathom what on earth her mother might have taken her out of lessons for. “Would you like to hear about the method of division we were learning about today that Mildred is totally _useless_ at?”

Hecate raises an eyebrow. “Indeed.”

Ethel beams.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hecate and her guilty ass attempt to bond with the kiddos.

It takes five minutes for Hecate to lead Ethel out into the right spot in the gardens—behind the house and opposite to the gardens is a greenhouse that had once belonged to Hecate’s mother, and that—when she used to have the time—Hecate had been very fond of using throughout her teenage years before she had been imposed with the hassle of marriage and estate. Over time she’s had less and less time to take care of it and it’s decayed to a point of disarray, but she’s quite certain that, with Ethel to take charge of it, they can get it back up to its old standard.

“I had the servants clear out all the old plants and bring me in some of the flowers and crops I used to grow in here when I was younger.” Hecate explains to her. “And I thought you might be up to the challenge of bringing the greenhouse back to its previous state with me. If you like.” Hecate bites her lip as Ethel says nothing, just staring at the glass building. “You don’t have to. If you don’t want to. I just thought, maybe—”

“I’d love to!” Ethel cries and rushes over to open the door to go inside where lots of empty pots are waiting to be filled, with a few already grown plants decorating the shelves. “Do you mean that this place is just for me, and for you?”

Hecate inclines her head. “You’re the only one who really took to botany so…I thought you might appreciate it.”

Ethel nods quickly and looks over the little packets of seeds laid out on the table. “I do, I do! I promise I’ll take excellent care of all the plants, there won’t be a greenhouse better kept in England that this one.”

It is in this moment that Hecate decides that, no matter the doubts she may have had over the past few months, Ethel and her twin shall be remaining in her care, here, where they were born until they choose to leave themselves one day no matter what—even if it means subjecting herself to another fool in marriage to keep them. As she sees her daughter smile and go through the different types of seeds on the table Hecate knows that she could never bear for someone to take that away.

“Now, I had the kitchen lend us some aprons, so we don’t get any soil on clothes.” Hecate says, handing a smaller one to Ethel. “And then you can choose which you would like to start with, and I’ll show you how to plant them properly.”

It’s clear the Ethel’s taking the decision very seriously because the girl takes a minute to sift through before picking a few she deems the best to start with. “These, I think.”

“Ah. A good choice.” Hecate goes to the other side of the table and selects a pot and trowel, so Ethel can move in the soil. “Geraniums. Do you know what they symbolise?”

Ethel shakes her head.

“They represent happiness, and good health. So I think that’s an excellent flower to start with, don’t you?”

“Yes. It is.” Ethel smiles up at her and Hecate feels herself smiling, just a little, back.

“Now, use the trowel to load the pot up halfway with soil—yes, perfect, like that—and then gently lay your seeds down in the centre, not too many otherwise they won’t have space once they grow. Then cover them up and fill the pot about three quarters of the way up and use that watering can to start them off.”

Ethel very diligently does as she’s told, filling the pot up to the three quarter with all the painstakinh precision she can muster, and once she’s done puts the pot on a shelf to take in the sun as her mother sets up another pot for her to get started on. She’s never seen her mother do anything like this before, or if she has then she can’t remember it. Her mother is all about work, the importance of study, appreciating the elevated opportunities they have in their position and not wasting a second of it so Ethel is trying to be the best daughter in light of this example, which is perhaps what makes it so entirely bizarre to see her…enjoying herself?

“Who taught you to do this, Mama?” She asks once they sink into a sort of system, Hecate explaining the meanings and uses for each seed as they plant them.

There’s a pause, Hecate seems to be contemplating her. “I remember, vaguely, doing this with my own mother when I was small. And as I got older, I suppose I just kept maintaining it, I enjoy the plants and…she did, too.”

“What do you remember about her?”

Hecate swallows, and her fingers twitch. “She was from Spain and so used to speak to me in Spanish. She was tall, and had dark hair but blue eyes like yours, and Sybil’s. I imagine she would have been very fond of you.”

Ethel nods. “Did she die?”

Hecate nods very gently. “She did. I was younger than you are.” She says softly.

“I’d like to learn Spanish. Maybe…you could teach us, at some point? I remember you used to talk to Clarice and Sybil in Spanish when they were babies and Mildred would try and guess what you were saying. She’ll still thinks ‘amor’ means spit up.”

Hecate smiles at that and looks up at her daughter. “Not quite. But in fairness to your sister, it’s a rather educated guess.”

“It’s still definitely wrong.” Ethel says, turning back to her pot. “She’d be useless at Spanish. She’s useless at most things.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Hecate shakes her head. “It’s true that her academic achievements seem less substantial when shown next to yours but…that is not to say she’s _useless._ You’ve all got the same amount of Spanish blood in you, and I’m sure you could all speak it with enough practice. Her skillset is simply different.”

Ethel snorts. “If you believe that then you most certainly haven’t spent enough time with Mildred, or Enid for that matter.”

Hecate considers responding to that, because she knows that all her girls can do anything that they put their minds to if they really try, but there is also an outstanding truth to that statement which hurts her too much to get the words out. Ethel is right—in that she _hasn’t_ spent enough time with Mildred, or Enid or any of them but hopes that this is a first step to correcting that mistake. Not that many people in her general circle of society would consider it a mistake, it’s hardly uncommon for children in aristocratic family to be vaguely acquainted with their parents and nothing more but Hecate doesn’t want her family to be like that. She wants them to be _better,_ she wants them to know that, really, she does care about them and not be left in a shroud of hatred and hurt like she was.

“I think I shall come back and help you with the greenhouse every Thursday afternoon.” Hecate tells her. “Just us. I think we’ll have it back in shape in no time. But it’s your greenhouse now, and it’ll be a lot of responsibility to come back every day and water the plants.”

She doesn’t think she ever seen Ethel look so happy.

* * *

When it comes to her second and third daughters the challenge of finding out what they’d enjoy is significantly less puzzling because, apart from their lessons, it seems they enjoy most things that they do together—particularly such activities that they have been quite clearly banned from doing. Hecate sees this as a good opportunity to unban, as it were, one of these activities so long as it can be contained and careful.

She has Ada load up a carriage with the appropriate items required for what she has planned and takes a startled looking Mildred and Enid from their break after the midday meal on Friday. They evidently aren’t expecting anything good—similarly to her sister, the first thing Enid says is ‘it was Ethel’s fault’ while Mildred just outright apologises as a prelude to enquiring as to what she’s done wrong. “Nothing, for once neither of you have done anything.” Hecate informs them and they relax significantly at this declaration. “We’re going on a little trip.”

Enid perks up at this. “A trip? Like when you took Ethel out to the greenhouse? She hasn’t _stopped_ bragging about that, saying that she’s the favourite because you spent special time with her but that’s not true, is it Mama?”

Hecate shakes her head. “Of course not. I have no favourites.”

If Mildred mutters something on the lines of ‘but you have a least favourite’ Hecate ignores it and lets them climb into the carriage. The truth is they aren’t going far but, given what she’s planned, the duchess has no intention of allowing them to walk very far.

“Are we going on a picnic?” Enid asks. “Or kite flying, like Miss Hubble takes us sometimes? Oh! I know, are we visiting the village? _Please_ say yes!”

Hecate shakes her head. “I’m afraid not. We’re headed towards the lake.”

“The lake?” Enid pulls a face. “But we’re not allowed near the lake because it’s dangerous.”

Mildred perks up suddenly. “Are you getting someone to teach us how to swim!”

Hecate nods. “Yes. I shall be doing the teaching though, because I don’t trust anyone else to keep you from drowning.” That’s not strictly true—she’s been meaning to get Ada, who taught her to swim as a child, to take them out to learn for a while since it’s only a matter of time before there’s a water-related incident but she’s not going to tell _them_ that. Doing it personally gives her time to, hopefully, let Mildred and Enid know that they are important to her despite the misbehaviour, and that they are worth her time.

“Oh, wow! Thank you, thank you!” Enid falls into her from the other side of the carriage and _hugs_ her, which makes Hecate entirely freeze up. She can’t say she’s exactly opposed to it, though, so allows it to continue for a little while.

“Do you like the sound of that, Mildred?” She looks towards the elder girl who looks uncharacteristically contemplative.

Mildred nods. “Yes, yes, it sounds brilliant. I’m just not sure what we’ve done to deserve it.”

“Must you have done something to deserve a swimming lesson? I’ve become a little tired of hearing Enid tell me how she’s going to be the first woman in the national swimming society without knowing how to do it and thought you both might appreciate it.” Mildred’s looking at her sceptically. Hecate then decides there’s no point not being a little more transparent. “There may also be an element of premediated prevention of any highly possible future water related incidents.”

“There’s the Mama I know.” Mildred smiles at her. “How do you know how to swim?”

“Miss Cackle taught me when I was a child, after an incident at a beach where I nearly drowned.” Hecate tells her. “But that’s hardly important, because I can swim perfectly well now and am prepared to teach you both.” She’ll get around to teaching the others at some point in the future but it hardly prepared to supervise six children in water at once, even if she did have Ada help.

Enid can hardly sit still all throughout the relatively short carriage ride over to the lake and jumps out of the carriage before the horse can even stop properly which results in a small scolding, but not enough to put a damper on her mood. “Now, get away from the bank in your dress! I don’t want you to get it covered in mud.” Hecate warns her, and Enid dutifully takes one step back.

A maid they brought with them helps them into their underclothes and it would take physical retainment to hold the them back as they wait for her, so Hecate allows them to paddle about in the shallows before joining them. The water isn’t as cold as she was expecting, but is a shock to the system anyway so she allows herself a moment to shiver before sinking into it to about waist height.

“Now, I want you girls to pay very close attention.” She tells them. “There’s a technique to swimming, as I’m sure you’re going to work out, so just copy me for now.” She moves her arm in a breaststroke pattern. “Yes, that’s good. It’s like pushing the water out of the way to make room for you.” Hecate wades out a little deeper, instructing the girls to stay put. “Now if you kick your legs and keep doing that movement in the water, you should be able to stay afloat—yes, like that Enid!”

Enid is practically glowing with the praise, and Mildred has stuck her tongue a little in attempt to copy her sister. “My feet just keep kicking the mud!” She frowns.

“Well, you’re a little taller than Enid so come out just a little deeper.” Hecate says and drifts over to them. She puts her hands just Mildred’s arms and lift her up gently. “Now kick your legs and do the arms like I told you, like Enid.” Slowly, she lets her go and Mildred makes a noise of delight as she feels herself floating for a moment, kicking up and trying to do it again.

“Look, Enid, I’m doing it!”

“We’ll both be swimmers soon, Mil!” Enid floats towards her sister. “Watch this!”

Enid drops down under water completely, eyes still open, and attempts to wave up at her. Hecate thinks she might have a heart attack.

“Enid!” She cries, in a voice that can’t quite keep the panic out and pulls her back up as quickly as she can.

The girls rubs at her eyes and spits out a little water which narrowly misses hitting Hecate. “Sorry. It looked like fun.”

Hecate takes a deep breath, determined not to shout. “I want to make it very clear that you girls are to do _nothing_ unless I instruct you to do so. It’s not a matter of _fun,_ it’s a matter of safety because no one will have any fun if you end up drowning. Do you understand?”

Both girls nod. “Yes, Mama.”

“Good.” Hecate sighs smooths out the wet wrinkles in her slip. “Now, I’m going to show you the technique for swimming properly now you know how to float properly.”

They stay into the lake for another couple of hours, and by the end Enid is no longer uncomfortable with pretending to be a fish and tripping her sister up underwater—nor does Mildred have any qualms with scooping mud from the banks and chasing pond skaters across the water. They can’t swim properly, of course—it’ll take longer than a couple of hours—but at least they’re comfortable enough in the shallows to mess around. It’s hard work, attempting to keep up with them and Hecate imagines that the limited staff she brought with them (the chauffer, and two maids) are getting very bored up by the carriage but can’t quite bear to get out just yet.

Enid dives behind her. “Protect me Mama, she’s going to splash me!” She squeals as Mildred jolts to one side and clings to Hecate’s arm before sending a wave over that marginally misses Mildred.

“Oh, I’ll get you for that!” Mildred exclaims, pushing a big wave rapidly towards Enid who dives out of the way just in time for it to miss her but, instead, hit Hecate all the way up to her face. Both girls instantly freeze in fear as Hecate slowly brings a hand up to her face and wipes her eyes with a grimace.

She opens her eyes and glares at Mildred. “I’m _so_ sorry—”

Instead of saying anything, Hecate instead pushes a wave back at Mildred which hits her entirely in the face. Enid laughs and cries—“Run, Millie, run!” and Hecate cannot help but be a little bit proud as they attempt to use their new technique to somewhat swim away in the shallows as she continues to push water at them to their delight.

When they finally get out, they’re giggling and shivering as the maids wrap them up in towels and blankets, while Hecate redresses to an extent in a less modest gown that normal and slides in next to them. They’re halfway through the ride back—Enid and Mildred whispering about the implications of their newly learned ability, and how they’re going to use it to find mermaids in future—when Mildred takes her hand and gently squeezes it, holding on more even if she doesn’t acknowledge it.

Hecate doesn’t see any reason to draw attention to it so doesn’t, but nor does she drop the hand at all, giving it a little squeeze back and letting her eyes drift to their home which has begun to appear in the distance.

* * *

Dinner is, for once, full of chatter—the spirit so lively that it seems Enid doesn’t find the time to complain about her green beans, and Sybil doesn’t make one second of fuss throughout, except for a small incident where she had to be once again reminded that, _yes_ , she is allergic to eggs and, _no,_ that doesn’t change just because they’re hard boiled. Hecate doesn’t join in unless specifically prompted, content to sit back and watch the girls greatly exaggerate their account of the afternoon punctuated with a few disbelieving remarks from Ethel. It is very rare to see them all get along, and she hadn’t anticipated that it would only take a couple of afternoons and some close time with the girls to achieve this.

She feels a little proud and allows this to make her think fondly of the future they will have here. Tonight, for her bedtime, she shall go to Clarice’s rooms and read her one of the story books she’s so fond of—Persephone and Hades, one of her own favourites as a child, and of the same family as her own namesake. Tomorrow she’ll spend time properly playing with Sybil…and figure out what it is Felicity might like to do that isn’t dress shopping, because she strongly believes that her fourth daughter has more than enough gowns tucked in her wardrobe for the time being.

(Hecate is willing to do almost anything for her daughters, but a day dress shopping when it’s not entirely obligatory is not included in that.)

That’s tomorrow Hecate’s problem. For now, for the first time for a while she feels somewhat content and satisfied in her position, and this is something she intends to savour. Of course, taking a few hours aside for her daughters is hardly enough to change anything permanently but she’s certainly going to try and keep it up, prove that she can be a good duchess and mother to herself but, more importantly, to them.

Things may just be starting to look up.

* * *

The mood that can only be described as happy stays with Hecate all through the next day until about 4 o’clock, when the thrice-damned neighbour that she’s only stayed slightly in contact with through her daughters comes to the house asking for her. Why, Lady Hardbroom cannot begin to imagine but finds a little unsettling—what on earth would she want to have to do with _her?_ Their agreement is that the girls have tea in her gardens, in full view of her own staff should they feel the need to fetch of check on one of the girls.

It is for this reason that she remains outside the drawing room where Miss Pentangle, static, for about six and a half minutes. Hecate tries to swallow, her tongue suddenly feeling thick and dry and in her mouth. A footman pushes the door open for her, and she tries to look nonchalant as she sways into the room.

“Miss Pentangle?”

The woman jumps from her seat on the sofa and lets out a laugh. “Dear lord, you startled me! It’s nice to see you, Lady Hardbroom—I just thought I’d pop round since my cook just made far too many lemon cakes this morning for me alone, so I brought some round for you and the girls. I would have saved them for tea but…I’m sure, with little Enid and Felicity around you don’t get many sweet treats yourself at mealtimes so…” She gestures to a basket lined in pink fabric filled with little white-iced cakes with a sickly-sweet smile.

“I don’t like sweet things.” Hecate instantly regrets the statement when she sees Miss Pentangle’s face fall. “No! I only mean—that’s not to say, I haven’t tried—or, at least I don’t remember trying these, perhaps I—maybe—” She feels her cheeks heat up. “What I mean to say is, is that I have not tried lemon cakes, or not since I was young. I thank you for your…” She waves her hand, not quite finding the words as her eyes engage in a firm stare with the floor.

That seems to satisfy Miss Pentangle and a smile returns to her face. “Oh, that’s good. And…I just want to make sure things are all well, I suppose, between us. I only mean that our first interaction was far from ideal and I haven’t really been able to stop thinking about it since. I hope that we can be friends, for the sake of the girls.”

Hecate blinks. “I-yes. You’re right. I may have been a little…brusque upon first meeting but I only, well my only worry is…” She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “My daughters have for whatever reason taken to you rather deeply and would be agreeable to…an amicable relationship.”

Miss Pentangle laughs, though Hecate can’t figure out why. “You were a _little_ brusque. But it’s all water under the bridge!” From the tone of her voice it doesn’t sound like she really feels that way, but Hecate isn’t about to try and get to the bottom of it. “Now, I do have something for you while I’m here, and you might not want it but…” She leans down and pulls a small envelope from the cake basket and hands it to Hecate, her title inscribed in pretty calligraphy on the front. “I know you couldn’t make it last time, but I’m having another soiree and I was hoping that you might be able to make it. You can bring one of the girls, if you like, but it’s a formal party with people from all over the country this time so it might not be their cup of tea. I’d be really thrilled if you could come.”

“Oh, I—” Hecate accepts the letter, letting the corner of it poke her palm uncomfortably. “Well, I’ll have to see. It’s difficult, you know—schedules and…everything.”

“Of course, I completely understand. But it’d be absolutely magnificent if you did come, Lady Hardbroom. Well, that’s everything, so I shall take my leave and with any luck see you soon? I hope to hear back from you, it’s only two nights away!”

“Only…” Hecate frowns. “Two nights? You must have planned the event very quickly.”

Pippa giggles and nods. “It’s a talent of mine, I suppose. If I could have a party every day I would!” Hecate honestly cannot picture anything more excruciating that that. “Well, goodbye Lady Hardbroom.”

“Yes. Goodbye, Miss Pentangle…I shall get back to you as soon as possible.”

The woman, in a manner than renders Hecate entirely immobile, leans forward and taps Hecate’s nose with her forefinger, and then slips out of the room before she can even begin to conjure a response, leaving behind the basket of cakes and the scent of sugar and roses in the air.

After a moment she shakes her head and brings her hands up to her nose, almost as if trying to comprehend the nonsensical action that’s just taken place before deeming it a fruitless cause. She picks up the basket and inspects the cakes a little, taking one off the top and trying a hesitant little bite. It’s less sweet than she thought it would be, which is nice, but still more sugar that she’s had voluntarily in a long while so swallows and then leaves it on the table for a maid to clean later. She’ll take the basket to the footman outside the door and ask him to take it down to the kitchens, for dinner. The cook will probably feel undermined, but Hecate isn’t overly bothered what Miss Tapioca thinks about what she chooses to do.

She finds Felicity skipping in the corridor as she leaves the drawing room, looking a little absent.

“Mama, was that Miss Pentangle?”

Hecate hands the basket to the footman but keeps a hold of the letter. “Yes. She just came over to drop off some…confectionary.”

“Ooh! Are those cakes?” Felicity runs to the footman and goes on her tiptoes to peek into the basket. “May I have one, Mama? They look delicious, and if Miss Pentangle brought them then they definitely are! Her cook makes the _best_ biscuits and pastries, Miss Pentangle says it’s the most important thing you need to find in a cook—whether they can make good cakes or not. Her cook trained in _Paris._ ”

That’s a ridiculous statement but Hecate can’t quite find the will to counter it. “Hmm, yes. I suppose you may have one, but don’t tell your sisters—I do not want any dramatics.”

“Thank you!” Felicity selects the biggest looking slice and then turns to her mother, letting the footman leave, taking as enormous of a bite as she can. “What’s that letter?”

“Don’t talk with your mouthful, it’s very unladylike.”

Felicity swallows. “I’m sorry. What’s that letter?”

“If you must know, it’s an invitation from Miss Pentangle to a party at her manor but I doubt I shall be able to make it, I do truly detest this sort of frivolous gatherings, especially if they have no purpose.”

Felicity skips up to her. “May I see? I’ve been reading a lot lately, and Miss Hubble says I should read anything I can get my hands on to expand my vo-cab-u-lary.”

Not seeing any harm in it, Hecate hands her daughter the unopened invitation and lets her claw it open with her little stubby fingers, releasing the slightly ripped letter inside. It’s very similar to the last one she received to her memory, so starts to walk off only—to her surprise—to be followed by a concentrated Felicity who’s furrowed her eyebrows at the extravagant calligraphic hand it’s written it.

“It’s says that on the 18th there’s going to be a soiree—that’s a French word, Miss Hubble told me, it means party in English—and that you’re invited and that your daughters are welcome too. Wait!” She grabs Hecate’s arm suddenly, startling the older woman and prompting a glare which the girl ignores completely. “That means I can go! I know you don’t love it Mama but, please, please, please can we go!”

“I don’t think so, Felicity.” She absently takes her necklace in her hand and starts to fiddle with it. “I couldn’t just take you and not the other girls, it wouldn’t be fair. It’s best just to leave it this once.”

“But you didn’t go last time!” The little girl whines. “And it’s my _dream_ to go to a big party full of pretty ladies in big, poufy dresses and tiaras and makeup! Oh please, Mama, please!”

“I’m sure you’ll go to your fair share of such events when your older, Felicity, but I think you’re a little young for it now. I have no desire to expose any of you to these kinds of toxic social events before it’s absolutely necessary.”

“Toxic? No, no, you’re wrong Mama. I’ll be so dreadfully unhappy if we don’t go, and isn’t that what you named me for—happiness? Miss Hubble says the name Felicity means ‘intense happiness’ which means I should always be happy, and I will be for ever and ever as long as you let me go to the soiree! I promise I shan’t ever want for anything again; I’ll be happier than Cinderella at the ball!”

Hecate sighs and stops, dropping her necklace and looking down at the girl. “I named you Felicity after your great grandmother, nothing more than that. And I’m sure you will survive at the expense of my presence at Miss Pentangle’s soiree. Now, go and play while I do some work.”

“It’s not fair!” Felicity cries and tugs on Hecate’s skirts.

“Felicity Hardbroom! That is not how you have been taught to behave, stand up properly at once!”

“But you take all the others out on special treats with you, but you never do anything for me! Her eyes start to fill with water. “It’s not my fault I don’t want work or lessons or stories like the others, all I want is to go out for _one_ night with you to Miss Pentangle’s— _please_ Mama, it’s all I’ve ever wanted!”

Hecate inhales and pinches the bridge of her nose, wondering where on earth Miss Hubble is and hoping she’ll be along to take the girl away soon, as guilty as that makes her feel. No such godly intervention is going to bless her at this hour, so instead she finds herself severely regretting what she’s about to say.

“Fine! Fine, if it is so dreadfully important that we attend this…this assembly of aristocratic idiocy that we shall, but I expect no complaining about your work or food or anything of the sort for at least a year, am I clear?” She tries to make it sound relatively stern, like a pushed compromise rather than an inevitable caving in but it doesn’t have the intended effect given that Felicity then throws her arms around Hecate’s waist in her delight.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! I love you; I love you so much!”

Hecate finds herself squeezing the girl back a little, taken aback by her statement. Eventually Felicity pulls back and exclaims her love loudly in her joy once again before Miss Hubble finally turns up and ushers her back to the classrooms.

Despite the fact that she’s roped herself into an inevitably tedious and tiresome night with her bizarre neighbour, Hecate cannot help but feel that maybe—just maybe—it’s worth it, should it make Felicity so happy.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I mean this chapter is just gay shit really aka pippa be making moves

It takes not five minutes for it to really cement in Hecate’s mind why she has a deep hatred for soirees and events such as Miss Pentangle’s, and that’s just after all the godforsaken preparation that’s gone into her appearance in order for her to look appropriate for the event. They’re not even _there_ yet.

Her hair’s been curled and coifed into an elaborate bun at the back of her head with ringlets hanging at the side of her head as is the fashion (according to Felicity and her maid, that is, since Hecate doesn’t know the first thing about fashion other than she is most comfortable in her black mourning clothes as morbid as that sounds, and that she resents being decorated like a doll for three hours straight). Her corset has been fitted far tighter than could be deemed even moderately healthy, and a ridiculous skirt of blue-grey silk and satin over cotton and layers and layers of petticoats protrudes around her waist uncomfortably. She hasn’t even been able to get away with her usual high collars (which is, admittedly, as much a blessing as it is a curse given that is boiling at this time of year). Instead her sleeves begin at the base of her shoulders leaving her neck and collar bones all but exposes to the air save for a silver necklace.

It seems that this intense discomfort is exactly what is required to make her fourth daughter the happiest girl in the world. She herself is wearing a gown of her own, purple since Hecate still hasn’t agreed to invest in a pink addition to her wardrobe and clutching her mother’s hand as she practically trembles with excitement. Normally Hecate doesn’t let the girls hold onto her in public but is a little apprehensive herself, so doesn’t mind having the reason she’s subjecting herself to this clutching onto her hand as a sort of lifeline to continue.

A footman opens the carriage door for them, and Felicity remembers her manners like a true Duchess’s daughter and thanks him, waiting for her mother and the ridiculous skirts to follow her out. They then follow the apparent butler into the house which is admittedly larger than she’d thought from her extremely brief visits to the exterior and view from her bedroom window. They follow the butler to the door on a pale pink carpet that’s been laid out over the pavement and through the house up until they reach the end of a queue, people waiting to be announced to the masses before they can join the party. This gives Hecate some rather unwanted flashbacks to the similar events her father had forced her into in attempt to find someone to marry her—which had worked most of the time given their status but was very difficult to stomach at the time.

Not for the first or last time this evening, Hecate reminds herself that there is no motive of intention to this evening apart from letting Felicity enjoy herself. This is what she wants, and for once Hecate is morally obligated to grudgingly indulge her.

“How many people are here, Mama?” Felicity whispers to her rather loudly.

“I’m not sure. I wouldn’t say it’ll be much more than a hundred.” She replies. “If you feel at all awkward, or uncomfortable at any point you can tell me, and we’ll leave.”

Hecate can’t quite tell if that’s a reassurance or a plea.

“Oh, I won’t want to leave.” Felicity leans up on her tip toes. She has violets threaded into her hair and a little rouge on her cheeks that she begged the maid to put on her, and for a horrible moment Hecate can almost imagine her grown up, a young lady going to her first coming out ball and being bombarded with power hungry suitors and lewd old men who think they can take advantage of a pretty young girl. Of course, Hecate doesn’t believe she was ever as pretty as any of her daughters are fortunate enough to be but that doesn’t mean she didn’t suffer the inevitability of both.

The thought of Felicity, her young, sweet Felicity ever being in that position makes her shiver.

It’s not long before they reach the front of the line, on the slightly elevated step of the open back doors that lead into the mass of people Hecate, unfortunately, mostly recognises and their names are called.

“Lady Hecate Hardbroom, Duchess of Lancaster and her daughter Lady Felicity Hardbroom!”

The not-so-hushed voices of the British aristocracy burst at that announcement as Hecate and Felicity step out into the crowds, Hecate keeping Felicity very close to her as the girl stares in awe at all the glamour and money around them sitting on the necks of ladies and pockets of gentlemen. Her first task is to find a relatively safe group to hang around with which she might have been successful at were it not for the rather awkward introduction of one Lord Newton Nightshade.

“Lady Hecate.” He leans forward to kiss her cheek, and she reluctantly allows him. “I did not expect to see you here, I must say. I haven’t seen you in far too long.”

“Seven years, Lord Newton.” She tells him. “My late husband’s funeral.”

It’s seems a little unfortunate that he grins at this. “Ah, yes, I remember. You were as big as a house at the time with my niece—Edith, is it?”

Hecate does not make an effort to hide her frown. “Enid. Though I’m sure it’s terribly difficult to remember given that she’s your only niece.” She looks down to see a confused looking Felicity. “This is another of my daughters, Lady Felicity. Felicity, this is a man who is distantly related to Enid.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” Felicity smiles, offering him her hand as any proper lady should. He seems amused by this and takes it, kissing it gently. The little girl looks very happy with herself.

“And you too, Lady Felicity. I must say, you look quite splendid this evening—how is it that I’ve never seen you at one of these events before? I’m certain I would have remembered such a little beauty.”

“You are very kind.” Felicity beams. “And this is the first time Mama’s taken me to a soiree. It’s very exciting.”

“I’m sure it is.” He winks at her, and she giggles squeezing her mother’s hand tightly. Hecate looks unamused. “As it happens, I have been meaning to speak to your mother for a while—we are old friends, you see, through my dear departed brother and I find myself rather missing the company of family these days.” Hecate feels her stomach turn as she predicts exactly where this going. “And I must say, Lady Hecate, it is certainly evident where Felicity gets her beauty—you look not a day older than the day we first met.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “Might I remind you, that we first met at your late brother and I’s wedding?”

“True as that may be—”

“Lady Hardbroom!” He is interrupted by an excited exclamation from one Miss Pentangle, who it seems has found them in the crowd. “When you responded to my invitation, I didn’t let myself imagine you might actually come—and you brought dear Felicity, how lovely of you!”

“Look Miss Pentangle, the maid put flowers in my hair, just like you showed us!” Felicity replies, beaming at the woman dressed in pink. “You look like an _angel.”_

The host smiles at the girl. “You are too kind, Fliss. And your hair looks absolutely divine, I must ask my maid to do it again for me someday soon.” She dots her finger on Felicity’s nose and then looks to a rather relieved looking Hecate and annoyed Newton. “My apologies for interrupting, sometimes I just don’t think!”

“Oh, you haven’t interrupted anything, I assure you.” Hecate rushes to tell her. “Actually, while you’re here—I was hoping you might show me around your house, I’ve always been so curious about more modern tastes.”

She seems to shock Miss Pentangle by looping her arm around hers in a manner that would imply they are much more friendly that they actually are—and this gives her some semblance of pride, only in that it sees of all matters of her neighbour it always seems herself who is lost for words and not the other way round.

The switch in roles is a pleasing change.

It takes the blonde woman a moment to collect herself before nodding her head and smiling brightly. “Of course! I’d be delighted to, if you don’t mind me stealing Lady Hardbroom, Lord Nightshade?”

He smiles at her very unconvincingly. “Of course, please, don’t let me stand in your way.”

“We won’t, then.” It’s Miss Pentangle’s turn to wink.

“Come, Felicity, I don’t want to lose you.” Hecate says, reaching her free arm out for the girl to follow. Whether she understands exactly what just happened or not is unclear, but she does seem to get the kind of impression that it was some sort of adult passive argument and is very happy that her Mama came out victorious.

“I think it’s safe to assume you do not have any vested interest in my modern tastes in décor, Lady Hardbroom?” Miss Pentangle smiles, and Hecate bites her lip to prevent herself from smiling back.

“I’m afraid not, but in truth I’d rather spend the rest of the evening getting fitted for a gown as pink as yours than endure another ghastly interaction with people I’d rather forget.”

Miss Pentangle chuckles at her frankness. “I take it you are not a fan of my favourite colour.”

“She hates it!” Felicity chirps rather too confidently, which causes Hecate’s eyebrows to shoot to her eyebrows while Miss Pentangle giggles again. “She says that I can’t have one because I have enough gowns to _last me a lifetime_ as it is—but I think it’s because Mama just doesn’t like the colour pink!”

“Ah, I’ll convert your dear Mama yet.” Miss Pentangle smirks. “Now, let it never be said I was not dutiful host—I think it might be possible to slip inside for that tour which shall be private and far from the flock, if that’s what would take your fancy the most.”

Hecate is surprised at this offer, given that this is the Miss Pentangle who claimed to be so fond of parties not two days ago. It seems entirely unorthodox that, given this information, she might want to run away and hide with Hecate.

“That is very kind of you,” She inclines her head gently, suddenly hyperaware that her wrist is touching her host’s. “But I’m afraid I promised Felicity a soiree, as it were, and would feel terribly guilty to deprive her of that now. Awkward conversations and all.”

“Well, actually, there are a few other children here tonight—see, Lady Drusilla is over there with Miss Bunch and—oh, what is Lady Hawthorn’s son called?—Zac, that’s it! I’m sure that would be a great deal more fun that listening on adult conversations all night, but it’s entirely up to you Lady Hardbroom.”

Hecate feels her instinctual response—a clear and concise ‘no’—stuck in her throat. She doesn’t particularly enjoy the idea of her daughter spending the evening with ever more strangers without her there but doesn’t imagine that the other children have any mal intent, even if there is a boy among them. Even then, Felicity has become relatively adept at stepping out of trouble when with Enid and Mildred which are possibly the worst influences in this half of England so she feels she can justify letting her go just for this evening, even if it’s just for a little while.

This decision has nothing to do with her rather strong desire to delve into the house with Miss Pentangle, of course. _Of course._ And even if it did, it’s _entirely_ because she hates social interaction and one overconfident socialite inside is a far easier task to endure than a garden full of them—nothing to do with how Miss Pentangle’s smile makes her stomach twist in knots, or her words trip over each other. _Nothing at all._

“Would you like to do that, Felicity?” She asks after a moment of contemplation.

The little girl nods. “I would, there’s a boy! I don’t think I’ve ever played with a boy in my whole entire life.”

“Try not to be too disappointed.” Hecate nods and lets the girl, now giggling as she rushes to make her introductions. Miss Pentangle laughs.

“You do have a sense of humour after all, it seems.” She says and leans in closer to Hecate. “Now, shall we start with the top floor and come down?”

* * *

Hecate frowns at she slowly runs her finger along the backs of the books in Miss Pentangle’s library of considerable size. “You have an awful lot of poetry in here, Miss Pentangle.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I take it from your tone, you are not a fan?”

“I enjoy books immensely, though can’t deny never having particularly enjoyed the likes of Lord Byron. They all seem far too short to enjoy like one would a novel, or far too long to be anything but tedious.”

“Then perhaps you have been reading the wrong kind of poetry. I’m not a particular advocate of Lord Byron’s either, but…” Miss Pentangle pushes herself up her tiptoes to find a book from a higher shelf and retrieves a rather battered leather-bound book that’s evidently seen its fair share of adventures. “This has been my favourite since I was a girl, let me just find the right page—ah! Here.” She flips to a favoured page and clears her throat.

_“Frankly I wish I were dead_   
_When she left, she wept_

_a great deal; she said to me, “This parting must be_  
 _endured, Sappho. I go unwillingly.”  
  
_ _I said, “Go, and be happy_   
_But remember (you know_ _  
__Well) whom you leave shackled by love._

“Oh, I’ve always found Sappho’s poems so beautifully romantic in a way no other poets seem to understand. You must think me as silly as a schoolgirl!”

Hecate slowly shakes her head. “No, I…I haven’t heard of it before. Not that I can remember. May I see?”

Miss Pentangle nods and hands her the book, both being careful given its relatively weak structure. The pages are yellowed and fragile, and it feels almost like she’s being trusted a great deal as Hecate gently skims her eyes over the various translated poems.

“Sappho was Greek—though I suppose ‘ _Ode to Aphrodite’_ might give that away. I’ve always found Greek mythology fascinating; I must say I found it beyond intriguing when I discovered that your Christian name is Hecate after the goddess of witchcraft herself! I find myself a little envious if I am being honest—I’ve been cursed with a lifetime by _Philippa._ ” The woman shivers as if her name is a personal insult.

This coaxes a little smile out of Hecate. “Thank you, I must say that this is the first time someone is pronouncing it correctly at first attempt. My mother was fond of mythology also. And I’m sure you could have further cursed than Philippa, Miss Pentangle—there’s always, God forbid, _Bertha._ ”

Miss Pentangle laughs. “You are not wrong—though I must insist you call me Pippa, it’s far more pleasant, given that we are neighbours after all.”

“That is…acceptable.” Hecate already knew that she went by Pippa from the girls, but finds hearing her saying somewhat…transformative? It suits the woman dreadfully, bizarrely. “You may call me Hecate.”

“Nice to know.” Pippa smiles at her. “Did you name your daughters after anyone in particular?”

Hecate sets the book gently back on the shelf and looks at her new—something? They seem to be bordering the gap between grudging acquaintance to, somewhat, friends? It isn’t often that Hecate lets new people call her by her first name, so supposes on the grand spectrum that is friendship this is the closest someone’s come to her in a long time. “Yes, and no. I named Felicity and Clarice after relatives, but respective fathers overruled me on the others. I picked middle names for all of them, so I suppose that’s something, though I must admit I regret letting Ethel be named for my first mother in law.”

Pippa raises an eyebrow. “You don’t mean the late Ethel Hallow perchance, do you?”

Hecate resists the urge to shudder at the name of perhaps one of the ghastliest women she ever had the displeasure of acquainting herself with. “The very same.”

“Oh, but that is a most unfortunate namesake—I knew her far more intimately that I ever cared to. I was engaged to one of her sons, the eldest, for nearing on a decade before putting it off more felt a little cruel and ending the engagement.”

“It truly is a small world. I was married to the younger son.”

“Edward?”

Hecate nods. “I believe he was a little taller than his brother, though admittedly a fair bit more respectful. I hate to speak disrespectfully of those who were once family but, well, I found your ex-fiancé to be rather rude and hateful indeed. I’m not sure how you put up with that for a near decade, I must say.”

“What can I say, I’m British—we carry on.” Pippa smiles though it seems a little sad. “Besides, men are all the same really—you give them the odd kiss and wink every couple of weeks with the promise of ultimately giving them…well, you know, you’ve been married enough times.” Hecate feels her cheeks turn a violent shade of pink and stares at the floor. “They tend to be respectful enough. Women, on the other hand, are far more complex and interesting—don’t you think?”

Hecate gulps. “I…I thought one of my husbands was interesting enough.”

“I trust it wasn’t the Hallow.”

“Decidedly not.” Hecate still can’t quite muster the courage to look her back in the eyes. “Clarice’s father was one Victor Twigg. I did not love him…but he was interesting, he has a vested interest in science and would bring me all sort of studies and experiments to look at.”

“There is an anomaly in Victor Twigg, then.” Pippa says.

Hecate nods and looks up at the clock, eyes widening—she really has lost track of time. “My god, it has gotten rather late! I fear I may have to leave before too long; I don’t want to leave Felicity for much longer.”

“Of course—and I probably should make another appearance before the night is done even if I’d much rather spend it up here with you.” She grins. Hecate leads the way out of the library, biting her lip as she feels the words of the poem loop over and over in head. Does it mean…what she thinks it does? She knows nothing of poetry and even less of Sappho but finds herself rather desperate to understand it more, given that Pippa knows it seemingly inside out.

She stops in the doorway, leaning her hand on the frame and turns around, trying to steel herself as she faces Pippa. “Before I go perhaps I should say—if it would be agreeable to you, which it may not be, and would be fine—but should you ever, someday, find yourself wanting to visit the girls over at our manor—that is to say, for dinner, or for tea—then you should find yourself most welcome.”

“Are you inviting me to dinner?”

Hecate can’t quite meet her eyes as she nods.

“In that case, of course! I’d be delighted to, to see the girls but you also—you’ve enthralled me, I must admit, with your mysterious aura.”

“I’m sorry?”

Pippa waves her hand nonchalantly. “Please, you must ignore the musings of an aging spinster—I am accepting with much delight. “Now I am free of engagements tomorrow—”

“Yes.” Hecate blushes as the word escapes her far more quickly that she had intended. “I mean, you can come tomorrow…if you like.”

“Tomorrow it shall be, I look forward to it!” They head outside where Pippa says her goodbyes to Hecate and Felicity, wishing the latter sweet dreams with the hope she had a wonderful time (which she did, but cannot help but feel her hopes about the opposite gender were perhaps misplaced like her mother had implied).

Hecate did not come to Miss Pentangle’s soiree with high hopes at all but finds that it’s been the best night she’s had in a long time.

* * *

It seems that, where Hecate Hardbroom is concerned, good moods never last and this one is no exception.

That night she retires almost as soon a she gets in, making sure the tired Felicity makes her way straight to bed and pleasantly surprised by Ada’s report that nothing untoward has occurred (privately, she doesn’t really believe that but if her housekeeper deems it minor enough not to tell her about then she’s happy to play ignorant this once). She dreams in pink of poetry and the women that are _so_ much more interesting that their male counterparts—of Sappho, and her mother, and Miss Pippa Pentangle next door.

She is awoken as usual in the mid-morning and dresses for breakfast, meets the girls in the corridor who are somehow on time today. A still buzzing Felicity is recounting the event of last night to her sisters.

“ _And_ we met Enid’s relative, he was a tall man and a little bit handsome, but he wasn’t very nice to Mama.”

Enid perks up. “My relative? Who was he, Mama?”

“An uncle, not one that you’d remember. I promise he’s no one to waste any time on, and I had no idea he’d be there.” Hecate assures her.

“Why don’t we have any other uncles or aunties?”

“Because I have no siblings.” Hecate leads the girls into the dining room and takes her seat at the head of the table while the rest of the girls take their allocated seats. Felicity’s good mood seems to have rubbed off on everyone else—even Mildred and Ethel _smiled_ at each other, which Hecate still thinks must have been a hallucination—and little Sybil takes the moment to hop down from her chair and scuttle up to her mother.

“Sit back down, love.” Miss Hubble chides gently but is ignored.

“Can I sit with you, Mama?” Sybil asks, blinking her big blue eyes up at her mother. Hecate is not the kind of person to be taken in by a cute face but, just this once, she thinks she might quite like to have her littlest child on her lap so feigns a sigh and nods.

“Just this once.”

Sybil giggles happily as her mother picks her up and places her on her lap, letting her pick fruit from her plate and dribble juice down her chin. It occurs to Hecate that before long she won’t be able to do this—Ethel and Mildred are nearing their late childhood, and Sybil’s not going to be begging to be picked up forever and while she will be relieved to have children who are old enough to have some kind of coherent conversation with, some part of her will miss having a little one who will look at her with big eyes no matter what.

The breakfast is interrupted quite abruptly when Ada hurriedly enters the room, looking quite out of breath. “Your ladyship Miss Ursula Hallow has just arrived at our gates. She was not expected, was she?”

Hecate’s eyes widen, and her arms wrap around Sybil instinctively. “No, not at all. Did she explain her reason for coming?”

Ada gives her a look that says _you know why she’s here_ and that makes Hecate’s stomach turn uncomfortably.

“Ah.” Hecate swallows uncomfortably. “Miss Hubble, I want you to take the girls out immediately from an extended walk and not come back until after luncheon—and then, if possible, keep them as far away from my unexpected guest as possible.” She stands and puts Sybil down who makes an unhappy noise and gets a lot of confused look from the girls. “Under no circumstances are Mildred and Ethel to associate with her unless I strictly instruct it so, do you understand?”

Miss Hubble nods. “Of course, milady. Now, come on girls—let’s get going.”

“Why do we have to go, Mama?” Mildred asks as the governess tries to usher the other girls out.

“You just must.”

“But why? Is she not very nice, Miss Hallow?”

“No, she isn’t—now for the love of all things holy, please just _go_ Mildred!”

It comes out a lot sharper than she intended but has the appropriate affect. She’s going to tell them at some point about the letters, and the will but would have preferred to do so once she had a solid plan in place to avoid it—as of yet, she has none other than remarriage and for one panicked moment wonders if she should write to Newton Nightshade.

_God, woman, I thought you had standards!_

Still, it will not do to have thrice damned Ursula Hallow tell them what’s happening, so she’ll have to get to it. For now, she has an unwanted guest and that must be her priority.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which ursula is problematic and so is enid but in the most opposite ways possible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow I need to pace myself with these updates lol,,,but this is turning out longer than I intended and im getting a bit trigger happy lollll  
> I had planned for this to only be five chapters what have I done

The last memory of Ursula Hallow, a cousin of her late husband, that Hecate has is at said husband’s funeral. It feels like a lifetime ago—she was so _young,_ and she had two infant children that everyone was disappointed in, and it felt like the whole world was against her. Still, she had sat at the front of the church with a six month old Mildred on her lap and Ethel asleep with the nanny, worn the leering stares of strangers stoically through it all while Ursula Hallow wept so dramatically and demanded the attention of all who would pay it—which was, unfortunately for Hecate, very few since all eyes were on the apathetic looking widowed heiress without a son who was suddenly available again.

It’s safe to say that Ursula Hallow formed a resentful opinion of Hecate that day, and the feeling remains mutual.

Showing up at someone’s residence without prior announcement is in poor taste as it is but given that Hecate still has been ignoring all the letters she’s been sent further action was bound to be taken at some point, so this really shouldn’t surprise her. To assume otherwise would have been rather naïve, and Hecate could never be accused of that, but she still thinks it’s a little cruel of that dreadful family to bother her now that everything just seems to be falling into place.

She heads over to her study while Ada lets the woman in with no real intention other than to keep her hands doing _something_ and stall the inevitable confrontation as long as she can without seeming outright rude.

Eventually, knowing she cannot stall for much longer, Hecate heads downstairs to the drawing room where Miss Hallow is waiting. She steels herself, schooling her features to be impassive and stern as she steps into the room where she is greeted with what can only be described as a glare.

“Ah, finally, the great Lady Hardbroom graces me with her presence.” The woman barks.

Hecate narrows her eyes slightly as she heads to a sofa. “Careful, Miss Hallow, or I might believe you do not speak to me in good humour.”

“Believe it, by all means—because I must say that Lord Hallow has had about enough of your belligerence and has come to collect what my dear, late father wished.”

“My belligerence?” Hecate places a hand over her chest. “You wound me, Miss Hallow. I assure you it was my intention to respond but you know how busy one can find oneself—I simply never found the time.”

She is fooling nobody but, really, she isn’t expecting to. “I shall excuse the fact that you clearly must deem me dense if you think I would believe that and move onto the true reason for my visit which I’m sure you may have worked out for yourself. I’m here to take the girls back to London.”

“Ah.” Hecate crosses her legs. “Here’s my stance on the issue: no.”

_“No?”_

“No.”

Ursula stands up. The act is supposed to be intimidating, Hecate imagines, as she stands over her but should she wish Hecate could stand up just as easily and would find she is quite a bit taller than Miss Hallow—so the effects would lay rather null. Still, she’s not willing to cause more problems that necessary so she remains seating, looking up at her invader.

“I’m afraid, Lady Hardbroom, you have mistaken me for someone who is asking. The will of my late father is non-negotiable and viable in a court of law—if you attempt to shirk your responsibilities then we will take it to court, where his wishes will be carried through and you shall be fined greatly for your defiance. That will take time and money, and wouldn’t you agree it’s most simple if you just let me take them with me now?”

Hecate blinks. “No. And in doing so, I would be shirking my greatest responsibility of all—my responsibility to my children. It would be to their detriment to go to London, they would not be happy, and I cannot allow that. As a woman, surely you understand?”

“I do not.”

“I didn’t think so.” Hecate sighs and stands. “Well, in that case, you are welcome to stay here until you return to London, but you shall do so empty handed. It’s nice to see you again, Miss Hallow.”

She stands now and starts to head to the door but Hallow grabs her wrist before she can. “Don’t think that just because you’re denying the inevitable that you’ve somehow won, because you haven’t.”

Hecate cocks an eyebrow. “I have no such allusions, I assure you.”

“And I would like to see the girls, before I go home, if I may. They are my nieces after all.”

“That isn’t going to be possible today, the girls are out with their governess. I’m sorry.”

“What I shame, I’ll just have to stay until tomorrow, won’t I, to spend time with them? And I’m sure they’ll be at dinner.”

Hecate resists the urge to growl at her, and simply nods before quickly evacuating the room. She has no wish to stay in the same room as the woman any longer than necessary, and also now has the task of telling Ethel and Mildred about what’s going on before Hallow can get to it. Part of her feebly wonders if she can pawn the task off on Ada or Miss Hubble, but that likely wouldn’t achieve any sort of desirable outcome especially since she’s trying to restore her relationships. She’ll have to talk to them when they get back from their walk.

She feels her head start to throb as she remembers that Miss Pentangle is also supposed to be coming to dinner. The extent to her neighbour’s relationship with the Hallow family is unknown but she was engaged to a cousin of Ursula Hallow for a long time so presumably they are acquainted—Hecate can’t quite decide whether it would be better if said relationship is amicable or not (mostly because the latter would be more amusing than related to any sort of practicality) or if, perhaps, it’s better to reschedule altogether.

Hecate Hardbroom three days ago would have cancelled dinner for Pippa and postponed it to a more convenient time when Hallows were not lurking around her halls, but she finds herself rather desperate for the company of her newfound friend in this time. Not for any reason other than Pippa makes her laugh, and is very clever, and even if she can’t help the situation, she will certainly help with lifting the children’s spirits as well as her own. So, she elects to let the invitation stand and hope it’s for the best.

* * *

Julie Hubble loves her job, she really does.

She reminds herself of this again as she chases Mildred and Enid down as they race towards a sheep field nearby that has a few lambs in it—they, of course, aren’t responding to her cries to wait and normally she wouldn’t have bothered, but they’ve gone onto other people’s property and that’s very much not allowed.

(Even though it seems they’ve been making a habit of that lately.)

“Look, it’s so tiny!” Mildred exclaims, going on her tiptoes to look over the fence to where the sheep are grazing. “I wish I had a lamb. I’d take the best care of it.”

“You’d have to share.” Enid says. “Or we could have two, and then we could race them.”

“It’s funny how you get horse races but not sheep races. I think a sheep could run really fast if it tried, and then children could ride them because they’re too small for grownups.”

Enid grins. “I’d be _great_ at that.”

“Mildred and Enid Hardbroom.” Julie Hubble says as sternly as she possibly can through laboured breaths. “What have I told you about running off? You two are in big trouble!”

“It’s been hours, we’re _bored.”_ Enid huffs. “And look at the little sheep, Miss Hubble! Isn’t it cute?”

Before Julie can comment on it the other girls have followed them, the youngest of the group visibly excited at the prospect of baby sheep. “Millie, Millie, pick me up so I can see!”

“This isn’t your mother’s property, girls, we really should be going.” She reiterates. The truth is, she’s quite quickly losing the will to argue the point given that she was instructed to keep them all out for the morning and they’ve still got another three hours before they go back inside for their lunch—perhaps there isn’t much harm to them looking at the sheep for a little while, if only to kill time?

“Are the baby sheep new?” Sybil asks, reaching her hand over to the pen.

“Yes, they—Sybil, keep your hands to yourself thank you—were born last week I was told. That’s why they’re so little.”

“Where do they come from?” Clarice asks.

“They come from their mother’s tummies, don’t they Miss Hubble?” Mildred grins at her.

“That’s right, well done Mildred. Lambs come from their mother’s tummies just like you came from yours.”

Clarice looks pensive. “Do the doctors cut open their tummies to get the babies out? Or…do they poo them out like food?”

“Don’t be stupid.” Ethel shakes her head and leans against the railing. “Mr Webb said that babies are just a gift from God and not to be questioned until we’re much older. It’s nothing like that, it’s heavenly and good, isn’t it, Miss Hubble?”

Julie tries to stop herself smiling. “Something like that, yeah.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!” Clarice exclaims. “Why would babies need to be in tummies at all if they’re just gifts, why can’t God just build them properly to begin with? And that still doesn’t answer my question.”

“This is a conversation for big girls, Clarice. I wouldn’t let it bother you for now.” Julie tells her.

“But I want to know, and I’m five years old now! My birthday was last week, I’m a big girl now.” She pouts.

Julie hums. “Not quite big enough. But it’s a question best kept for adults you don’t like very much, I promise. And I don’t have any of my own children, so how would I know?” She adds the last bit for good measure in the hopes that it’ll effectively end the conversation as amusing as it is.

They spend another ten minutes watching the lambs before they too get boring, and they take off again on their trail. Enid runs ahead with Sybil on her back, while Ethel and Clarice argue about something or other and Felicity skips along beside them, singing to herself absently. Mildred has fallen back next to the governess, looking up at her poised to ask a question.

Julie cocks an eyebrow. “Yes, Mildred?”

“Why are we walking instead of going to our lessons?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know. It’s what your lady mother wanted.” She tells her, honestly. “Maybe she wants you to make the most of the weather while it lasts—it’s not going to be summer forever, you know, and then you’ll be stuck inside all day whether you like it or not.”

Mildred shakes her head. “Not even a thunderstorm could keep me inside if I didn’t want to be.”

“We’re not having a repeat of what happened last winter, it took you ages to get over that cold.” Julie warns lightly. “No thunderstorms for you.”

The way Mildred says ‘whatever you say, Miss Hubble’ in an innocent tone doesn’t reassure the governess awfully.

“Why are you hanging back here with me, anyway?” She asks. “Haven’t you normally got Clarice on your back to race with Enid by now?”

“Normally.” Mildred agrees. “But todays not very normal. Mama didn’t look right at breakfast; I’m worried about her. Do you think we could go back, just for a little, to see her?”

Julie wraps her arm around Mildred and smiles. “You’re very sweet Millie, but she explicitly told me to do the opposite. It’s not your job to worry about her, and I’m sure it’s nothing to trouble yourself with—try to put it from your mind.”

The girl nods and then skips back off, customary grin absent from her face.

To an extent, Julie cannot help but agree with the girl’s worries, but it won’t do to show her that. She’s worked for Lady Hardbroom for years now and hasn’t ever seen her quite like that, nor has she ever been given such odd instructions without explanation. She may not love her employer as a person, may often deem her overly harsh and domineering over the girls but can see she cares for the girls deeply inside and always does what she thinks, or hopes, is best for them.

The governess hopes she’s doing that now, whatever it is she’s up to.

* * *

There is something rather ominous about the Hardbroom manor. It’s less of a manor, really, and not shy of a castle but perhaps they call it that for modesty’s sake. All castles tend to have an air of the ethereal to them but this one truly takes the cake—or so Pippa thinks, as she opts to walk to the neighbouring family’s residence rather than take her carriage.

Perhaps it’s how dark the stone seems to be—it some lights it almost looks black, and it’s how one might imagine the house of Hades to be. Well, if Hecate is Hades then there has never been another more like Persephone than Pippa because she has made certain she looks the part for this dinner she’s been so excited for all day.

Just as it was for Felicity yesterday, she has violets threaded into her hair which is braided up and around the back of her head. She’s carrying a bunch too, because she didn’t want to arrive empty handed, with a little note that she hopes her new friend shall find amusing. Her dress is, as is her custom, pink—but today she’s settled on a deep fuchsia that’s just off the edge of obnoxious with white ribbon around her waist and white floral embroidery all over the skirt. It’s one of the more expensive in her selection but she wants to make Hecate blush, and more than that she wants to be most authentically herself. And nothing says Pippa Pentangle more than an eyeful of pink.

When she arrives, the butler opens the door and Miss Cackle, Hecate’s housekeeper, is quick to catch her. “I just thought I’d let you know that Lady Hardbroom has another guest who shall be attending the dinner tonight, so as you don’t go in unawares.”

Pippa frowns. Part of her had thought this might be a special thing between her, Hecate and the girls but it seems not. She shouldn’t be as disappointed as she is. “Might I inquire as to who?”

“Miss Ursula Hallow, Lady Hardbroom told me you might know of her.”

Pippa twitches. “Oh…yes, yes I am familiar. Thank you for the warning, Miss Cackle.”

The older woman smiles. “Just doing my job. Now, everyone’s assembled in the drawing room before dinner is served in about ten minutes, would you like me to take those for you?” She gestures towards the flowers and note Pippa is still holding.

“Oh, yes, thank you! They’re for Lady Hardbroom. I had one of the maids fetch some for my hair, but she brought back so many…I thought they might be nice.”

“They’re lovely, Miss Pentangle, and I’ll make sure her ladyship receives them. Enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you.” Pippa nods at her, and plasters on a smile before heading into the drawing room where Hecate and Miss Hallow are sat, the latter berating the former about something or other while Hecate sits evidently not paying it any sort of attention. She seems visibly relieved when she sees Pippa.

“Miss Pentangle!” She stands up immediately, and then blushes as if realising how eager she just came across. “Please, come in. Dinner should be ready shortly.”

“I thank you.” Pippa takes a seat next to Hecate and smiles. “Good evening Miss Hallow. It’s been a while.”

Miss Hallow scowls. “I’d heard you’d moved up here, though didn’t imagine you’d be invited to a place like this at any point.” Pippa isn’t sure what she means by that and doesn’t really want to know.

“Well, isn’t the world full of delightful surprises?” She thinks if she smiles any harder her face will break. “What brings you up here, anyway? Lady Hardbroom never mentioned that you were friends, only I don’t remember you being particularly close with in-laws.”

“Well, you were never an in-law, where you?”

Pippa resists the urge to mutter _thankfully,_ and instead looks towards Hecate. “I want to say thank you for coming last night, I had a most wonderful time with you, and I’d love to extend another invitation, for yourself and Felicity should she wish to come again.”

“Who’s Felicity?” Hallow asks, and Pippa finds her eyebrows furrowing.

“Lady Hardbroom’s daughter?”

“Oh.” The woman at least as the decency to look a bit embarrassed. “Well, she’s not my relative so…it’s hard to keep up with these things. Who was her father?”

Hecate inhales rather deeply. “An American.”

“An American?”

“An American.” She repeats, not inclined to say anything else to Miss Hallow of all people.

“Have you ever been to America, Lady Hardbroom? I must say, I’ve always wanted to, but the trip always seems a little daunting, and I’m not sure I could take the temperature—it’s supposed to be a lot warmer than over here.”

Hecate shakes her head. “I haven’t, though I likely would have if not for…” She sighs and shakes her head. “Anyway. The food should be ready by now, I think, I’ll get Miss Hubble to fetch the girls.”

She stands and heads out the door, leaving Pippa alone with Miss Hallow.

“I’m very intrigued to meet my nieces.” Miss Hallow says. “I think it’s rat

her unorthodox that Lady Hardbroom lets them eat with the adults, but I suppose they’re old enough now. When they’re in my household they shall most certainly have to wait until they’re older.”

Pippa frowns. “She lets all the children eat with her. And what do you mean—”

“All of them?” Hallow looks shocked. “Even the infant?”

“She’s out of infancy now, I believe—and Lady Hardbroom has always done it this way, and I find myself rather inclined to agree with her methods. It’s good to have fixed points of the day where the family all come together, and a meal is rather the perfect time for that.” Pippa says.

Miss Hallow sniffs. “For half an hour after dinner, perhaps, but aside from that there is truly no point wasting time on infants who barely coherently speak—why bother with them at all?”

Pippa can think of lots of reasons why one might ‘bother with them’ on them but doesn’t get the opportunity to say them, because the adjoining door to the dining room opens and Lady Hardbroom has returned with two thirds of her brood.

“I’m afraid Ethel and Mildred aren’t feeling well tonight, so they are remaining in their rooms.” She says. “But, Miss Hallow, since you are evidently unfamiliar, these are my four younger daughters—Enid, Felicity, Clarice and Sybil.”

“Good evening!” Felicity says very politely with a smile that quickly fades when their guest greets them with nothing but a glance in bare acknowledgement.

“It’s truly a shame the older girls can’t make it.” She says. “Are you sure they aren’t up to a little something?”

“I’m sure.” Hecate’s voice doesn’t leave room for debate.

“Miss Pentangle!” Sybil exclaims and runs up to the guest which is far more of an interest to her. “Are you having dinner with us too?”

“That I am, little one. Now, show me, what seat do you sit in?”

Sybil takes her hand and leads her over to a chair on the left. “This is my chair. Mama, can Miss Pentangle sit next to me?”

“I’m afraid she’s been put her next to Enid.” Hecate says. She’s put her next to Enid because that’s also next to herself, and she cannot fathom living through a dinner next to Ursula Hallow without Pippa by her side at this point—she’s entitled to _some_ sort of moral support, isn’t she? And if nothing else, God forbid Hallow decides to tell everyone about her purpose for being here, Miss Pentangle should serve as a suitable distraction to the children until she can find a way to speak to Mildred and Ethel.

Really, she should have done it earlier and she had planned to…but when she tried to approach their doors, she had felt very sick and light-headed, so rather a rather cowardly fashion has put it off. She promises herself that she’ll go up as soon as dinner is over.

Sybil pouts but doesn’t protest overly as everyone takes their seats for the food to be served. Rather ironically, it seems that Miss Hallow would rather be anywhere else—her evident distaste for the children, which once was not so different from Hecate’s own not so long ago, is a little concerning as she proceeds to blatantly ignore them which in itself is a mistake—for even she cannot avoid a direct question.

“Miss Hallow,” Enid starts, and Hecate isn’t sure whether they should take cover or not. “Why are you not married?”

Hecate lets herself breathe.

“I—that’s none of your business, girl.” The woman replies tersely.

The grin that appears on Enid’s face is far too sinister to be anything but alarming. “Actually, Miss Hallow, as a daughter of a duchess you should refer to me as _Lady Enid_ because your father is only a Count, which means we’re more important.” Pippa is valiantly trying to hold in her laughter. “And I only asked because you seem quite old not to be married.”

Miss Hallow has turned red, and her jaw is hanging open. “I think you’ll find, _Lady Enid,_ that none of the adults at the table are married.”

She shakes her head. “They don’t count, because Mama is widowed, and Miss Pentangle is too clever for men.”

Hecate looks at Pippa who is grinning at that comment with an eyebrow raised. The woman in question shrugs innocently. “You are quite inquisitive, aren’t you? That’s most unbecoming in a young lady.”

“Being impolite to children isn’t becoming in old ladies either.”

“Enid!” Hecate exclaims, though she very much agrees with her. “Please mind that, whatever you may feel, Miss Hallow is still our guest.”

“Yes Mama.” She mutters and stabs a prawn on her plate. The table fades into an uncomfortable silence, and Pippa seeks to rectify it as much as she can.

“So, girls,” She begins after swallowing. “What did you get up to today, in your lessons?”

“We went for a _very, very_ long walk.” Felicity tells her. “It was so long I thought my legs were going to fall off by the end. But we did see some baby lambs.”

“Lambs? That’s very sweet.”

Hecate raises an eyebrow. “I do not remember their being any sheep on the route I instructed you to follow.”

“Mildred and Enid ran off.” Clarice deadpans, clearly not aware of the implications of that statement, which receives her a glare from her older sister. “But I’m glad they did. I liked seeing them.”

“They weren’t very fluffy yet, though.” Sybil informs the table. “Miss Hubble says its needs time to grow.”

Enid, in her own form of revenge for being told on, looks over to Clarice. “Why don’t you ask Miss Hallow what you wanted to know earlier? I’m sure she knows, old and wise as she must be.”

“Oh. Yes.” Clarice nods and looks towards their guest. “I know that babies grow in their mother’s tummies, but no one will tell me how they come out!”

Hecate chokes and Pippa, red and sympathetic, pats her back.

Ursula Hallow’s eyebrows fly upwards. “I’m sorry?”

“Because Ethel said I was being stupid when I said that you must either have to chop them out or go to lavatory like you would food, but I can’t think of any other way.”

An angry look is instantly directed at Hecate. “I must say, you have raised these girls terribly if you accept this sort of undignified vulgarity! I see my presence here is much more necessary than I thought, given that you are evidently not fit to give them the upbringing they deserve.”

“I would advise you to hold your tongue.” Hecate glares at her. “And I see no problem with a young girl being outspoken an honest in this day and age—we are not in the middle ages anymore and Clarice is only young and curious.” It is true that normally Hecate would berate Clarice herself for asking such inappropriate questions at the dinner table but it’s one thing for her to do it and another for Hallow to, so she’ll defend her.

ׅClarice, blank expression as ever, then adds: “And Miss Hubble said it’s a question to ask to adults I don’t like.”

Hecate cringes, Enid bursts out laughing, Pippa tries to hide behind her wine glass, Felicity looks confused, Sybil falls off her chair and Ursula Hallow looks as if she might pass out from poorly concealed shock.

Hecate stands. “Girls, perhaps you’re all a little tired after being out all morning and should go to bed early, yes?”

No one sees this as an opportunity to fight back, not even Enid, and they leave with no protests with a maid and they’re barely out of the door when Ursula Hallow explodes. “I have never been so insulted in my life! Your daughters are disrespectful, coarse and quite frankly _insolent_ and you deem it acceptable to promote and defend this behaviour? It is very clear that I need to take the elder girls right away before they can fall any deeper into this mess you have here.”

Hecate can feel herself shaking. “I want you to leave. I want you to leave my home and I want you to never contact us again.”

“I think not, Lady Hardbroom—and you’ll find yourself in contact with the police before long if you continue to illegally resist the agreement your father made.”

Pippa bites her lip, not sure she should be involved in this conversation, but alarmed at the mention of the authorities. “Surely you cannot expect the authorities to be interested in a case of brusque language from a five-year-old girl? I have found you to be exceedingly unpleasant this entire evening, and to accuse Lady Hardbroom of failing her young, bright and intelligent daughters is, quite frankly, despicable.”

“You evidently do not know the entire scope of what’s going on here, Miss Pentangle, so I suggest you keep out of it.”

Hecate bites her nails and is staring aggressively into the floor. “What Miss Hallow refers to, Miss Pentangle, is an agreement that my late father made with the recently deceased Lord Hallow—that should my heirs be left without a male figure of authority upon his death the Hallow family will take them on as wards. I have been…against this prospect entirely since it was brought up.”

“It matters not whether you are against it or not—what matters is that you are breaking the law. I shall see you fined, and the children forcibly removed in a court of law.”

“Isn’t there anything you can do?” Pippa asks, swallowing a lump in her throat as she places her hand gently on Hecate’s shoulder. “Anything at all?”

“I—I, it was my father’s doing, so I do not believe so—not in a court of law, for now.” She says and then looks up at Hallow. “I don’t expect you to understand, but they are my _children._ This is their home; this is their family and they belong in the house they will own in time. I also…have prospects, should I choose to remarry, and shall secure them should you attempt to take the girls by force. That renders the entire contract null and void.”

Ursula Hallow snorts. “As if any husband of yours would last long. You’re quite the black widow of England—is it five dead, now? It begs the question of how they died.”

“They won’t want to go with you.” Hecate says, her voice quietening. “They are happy here, with their sisters.”

“No one wants to take medicine, but that doesn’t mean they doesn’t need it.”

Pippa narrows her eyes. “I find you to be a very cruel woman, Ursula Hallow.”

The woman’s lip curls into a smile. “And I find you to be entirely unpleasant, and the conditions of these girl’s upbringing deplorable. They should be taught etiquette and music, sowing and embroidery and, if _nothing else_ , common decency which the younger ones evidently lack. This will be taught properly in London, where they shall go with me—say, tomorrow morning?”

“No!” Hecate cries. “No, no, you can’t do that!”

“Give them time if nothing else.” Pippa adds. “Give them time to say goodbye to their sisters if there really is no choice, to say goodbye to their mother. They have a life here, and you cannot steal that from them in an evening.”

The woman sighs. “For the sake of parting as friends, I will grant you a day.”

“A _day?”_

“They have tomorrow to say their goodbyes, and the next day we leave as the sun rises until such a time when you are engaged, Lady Hardbroom, or your father rises from the dead.” She smiles.

“A day.” Hecate looks down, defeated. “Well I—Miss Pentangle, I should—”

“I’ll leave you to your business, of course, but walk me to the door?” She asks.

Hecate takes the opportunity to leave the room as her teeth bite into her lip to try and keep it from trembling, Pippa holding onto her arm in a manner she hopes is a little comforting. They remain in silence until they’re out of earshot and then turns to Hecate with a look of importance. “Hecate, please do not lose your hope. I’m sure something will come up, and you’ll be able to keep the girls here.”

“I’ve been over it with a lawyer a dozen times.” The woman closes her eyes. “I had rather foolishly believed if I ignored them long enough, they would forget about it and find something else to dig their claws into. But I was mistaken, and now my children pay the price for it. _God, I’m just—I’m so selfish?_ I should have looked for the first man I could to save me—”

Pippa, rather boldly, puts her forefinger gently over Hecate’s lips. “I told you last night that women are far more interesting and complex than men, and I stand by that. Men are tools to be used when necessary. I also stand by belief that we do not need men to run our lives for us—and so, for the purposes of this, I shall endeavour to be your knight in shining armour.”

Hecate looks lost and deflated. “I’m sorry?”

“You know that I was engaged to a Hallow for many years, so I spent much time with their family. Now, I can’t make any promises, but I may have some…sensitive documentation in my possession, that could perhaps be enough to make Ursula Hallow change her mind about quite how badly she has need of Ethel and Mildred.” Pippa tells her. “I hadn’t thought I’d ever need it, but…”

“What kind of information?”

“Enough to provide scandal that’ll last for centuries—or, at least, long enough to completely tarnish their reputation.” She tells her. “I want to help you, as much as I can.”

“If what you say is true then I do thank you, I thank you deeply and solemnly. But…” She finds the last drop in her reservoir of confidence and uses it to look into the other woman’s deep, brown eyes. “But why would you do that, to help me?”

“Well, I’ve gotten used to my weekly afternoon teas now. I’d be loath to miss them, and—” She leans in, so she’s only centimetres from Hecate’s face. “You’re my friend, Hecate Hardbroom. And that matters a great deal to me.” She presses a kiss to Hecate’s cheek and then removes herself. “You should go and talk to Mildred and Ethel, they deserve to know what’s going on, I’ll be back tomorrow to see you.”

“I…will.” Hecate feels static and hot and uncomfortable and happy and angry. It’s lot, and she hasn’t felt this kind of emotion since, well, never—she’s never felt this kind of emotion. She can’t even muster up a farewell as she is blown another kiss and left in the hallway alone

After taking a long moment to compose herself, hand lingering on her cheek where Pippa’s lips had been, she resigns herself to finally explaining to Mildred and Ethel what’s going on. It’s not fair to keep them in the dark any longer, no matter how nauseous the prospect makes her—no matter how unsettled it’ll make them.

(An unsettled Mildred is a chaotic Mildred, and she is not entirely confident this will stop her from doing something rash, but honesty is the only way forward now.)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mildred and ethel plot their own revenge. Hecate needs therapy.

There is a painting in the hallway on the first floor right outside Mildred’s bedroom. It’s enormous—it’s taller than she is, and she’s grown a lot!—and it’s of a woman with long dark hair and blue eyes that are bright enough to stand out entirely to the otherwise monochrome painting, not that it takes away from the sheer beauty of it. Mildred likes to think she has the same nose as the lady in the painting, though Ethel tells her that’s not true, and sometimes wishes that when she talks to her the lady would talk back.

She doesn’t call her grandmother, though were she alive that’s probably would she would have called her. The frame is engraved with the words _Lady Beatriz_ so that is what Mildred calls her, when she sits in front of it and looks up at her, to tell what’s wrong when no one else seems trustworthy enough to keep her secrets. Lady Beatriz doesn’t look very old at all in her painting, younger than her Mama is now anyway, so Mildred thinks it might be kind of weird to call her anything but the name on her frame.

It isn’t even clear when the painting’s from if you’re just looking at it, and Mama never speaks about her so Mildred only actually knows it’s her grandmother from Miss Cackle who had known her when she was still alive.

So this is where she sits, in her little white nightdress, staring at the painting that she can barely see in hope that perhaps Lady Beatriz will walk out and pull her into the canvas and join her, if only so Ursula Hallow won’t be able to reach them.

Mama had told her and Ethel that Miss Pentangle may have a way they can stay, that things will probably work themselves out, and that she really shouldn’t worry about it. That’s probably true, and Mama wouldn’t say if it weren’t and even if she is _super_ annoying sometimes Mildred does trust her mother implicitly—so why does she suddenly feel so…abandoned? It’s probably stupid but it doesn’t _feel_ stupid, and she says as much to Lady Beatriz for all she doesn’t reply.

Maybe Lady Beatriz was like Miss Hubble, and she’d say something like: _Try not to worry about it, Millie—I’m sure everything’s under control, you know your mother would never let anything happen to you. I know you’re only young, and sometimes everything going on around you just doesn’t make sense, but I promise one day you’ll look back on all of this and think—what was all that fuss about!?_

Or like Miss Pentangle, maybe, who’d gives her a treat and give her hand a squeeze: _When I’m sad, I think about how lucky we are to be where we are—I think about my brother, who I love very much, and my parents—I think about my beautiful home, and my lovely gardens, and all my friends. You’ve got five sisters who, even if you don’t always get on, love you to bits—and even if she’s a bit funny about showing it sometimes, your mother does too. Try and focus on the things that make you happy, and be grateful, rather than those that make us sad sometimes._

Mama herself probably wouldn’t say much. Not because she wouldn’t want to, but because she’s not very good at dealing with tricky situations without ending up shouting at someone—normally Mildred, all things considered. Maybe that’s because Lady Beatriz was like that with her, or maybe it’s because Lady Beatriz was gone before Mama could learn how. Mildred thinks it’s awful that her Mama didn’t get to have her own Mama for very long, because even though her father died before she could remember him she’s never _felt_ like she’s down one parent. Sure, she remembers some of the later stepfathers but for the most part they just ignored her so it was never any real addition to the family, and she never viewed them as any substitute for a father since it’s never really occurred to her that she might need one.

When Mildred imagines her, Lady Beatriz has soft hands, and voice like how she imagines a grandmother to be, even if physically she struggles to equate the two together—posh and sugary, like those pastries Miss Pentangle gives them sometimes at tea. That isn’t what she’d sound like in reality—Mildred knows this because Miss Cackle said she was from Spain, so spoke with an accent—but she doesn’t really know what a Spanish accent sounds like that so is content to fill in the gaps herself. In her imagination, she pulls Lady Beatriz out of the painting and she makes everything bad go away, and lets Mildred live in peace without any of the grownup problems to come in a disturb her.

Alas, Lady Beatriz can’t help her now, but she is a little comforting—just sitting there, with her arms folded over her long skirts, and her eyes blue and pouring into Mildred’s own.

They need to get Miss Hallow out of the house, without Ethel and herself joining her, and she isn’t sure she can rely on Miss Pentangle to sort it out for them. It’s not that she doesn’t trust her, of _course_ she trusts her, but it’s simply that without a hundred percent assurance that she’ll be able to stay here she can’t rely on anyone else to do the job for her. No, she’s going to have to work this one out for herself—and her biggest ally in this, since despite their many differences they do both want to remain, is Ethel.

That’s why she sneaks into her sister’s room about two hours before the sun goes up and pokes her awake which prompts Ethel’s fist to fly up at the jolt and hit Mildred in the nose.

“Awh, Jesus Ethel!” Mildred cries, as her hand rushes to cradle her assaulted facial feature,

“What are you doing here?” Ethel hisses. “And be quiet!”

Mildred tilts her head back and holds her nose to try and stop the little blood that’s coming out. “I came because we need to figure out a plan not to be taken by that terrible Hallow woman.”

Ethel rolls her eyes. “She doesn’t even really want you, _I’m_ the heir.”

“And if you die, it’s good to have a spare.” The comment has lost its bite since she’s still holding her nose, but the sentiment remains.

“It’s bold of you to assume I don’t already have one, one that I plan to be successful which would explain why I don’t want to tell you about it.” Ethel sighs. “But you’re here now so I suppose I probably should.”

Mildred shuffles onto her sister’s bed and removes her hand, content that the bleeding has stopped. It’ll bruise but it’s hardly the worst injury she’s ever gotten, given the amount of times she’s fallen out of trees over the years. “What’s your idea? I was just going to suggest we run away so then no one could take us.”

“You need to stop treating running away like a solution.”

The brunette girl shrugs. “If we’re not here, she can’t take us.”

“If we’re not here we also can’t _stay here,_ stupid.” Ethel sighs. “What we need to do is convince her that we are not worth the trouble that would lead her to get a hold of our inheritance. If Miss Pentangle’s plan doesn’t work, then we need to have a backup in play already. We need to convince her that we are so repulsive that it would be hell to live with us.”

Mildred raises an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

“I think we should start with something simple, like you and Enid did to me—the snails. Though I haven’t figured out how you sneak around so quickly.”

“That would be telling.”

“She’s staying on your floor! I need to know how you get up there without getting caught in the corridor or the stairs.” Ethel says. “If we’re going to get the snails into her room and get to stay here, I need to know—I think this is a little more important that you’re escape route, Mildred.”

Mildred bites her lip. “ _Fine._ But you better not tell Miss Hubble, or I’ll kill you.”

“You’ll try.”

“It’s the trellis. You know, the thing the gardeners use to grow the plants that grow really high.” Mildred grudgingly tells her. “My rooms on top of Enid’s so I climb in through her window. If we steal a bag and fill it with snails, then we can climb up on that.”

Ethel blinks. “That’s…that’s actually clever.”

“You’ve never called me that before.” Mildred grins.

“Well,” Ethel sniffs. “Miracles happen, Anyway, let’s go, because the snails are only the beginning—and I’ve got the whole day planned.”

* * *

Unfortunately, Miss Pentangle does not arrive before the screaming fit that starts off Hecate’s day—not, for once, from one of the girls but from Miss Hallow who has rather unfortunately awoken with a family of snails having taken residence all over her sheets. It is no real mystery to the duchess who is responsible, and under normal circumstances she would berate them for such immature behaviour personally but today, given what she had to tell Mildred last night, she decides to let Miss Hubble take the chastisement since she tends to be less severe.

And while the shouting does wake her up, Hecate does not deem it important enough to require her actual presence so will let the staff deal with it—she feels a little bad but, if not this, sometimes she wonders what she’s paying them for. Instead she leaves her curtains closed, having sent her maid away for the time being, and allows a moment to collect herself before she starts the inevitablely gruelling work of the day.

It is only now that she notices the bunch of violets that has been left on her armchair, by the window, that could only really be from one person. They’re slightly wilted, probably from having been left out all night without any water, but pretty nonetheless. This proves to be enough motivation to pull herself out of bed and step over to inspect the flowers more closely.

They come with a note wrapped around the stems, which has her name written in Pippa’s eloquent pink scrawl over it. Hecate unravels it to find something that coaxes a smile out of her.

_If you forget me, think  
of our gifts to Aphrodite  
and all the loveliness that we shared _

_all the violet tiaras,  
braided rosebuds, dill and  
crocus twined around your young neck _

_myrrh poured on your head  
and on soft mats girls with  
all that they most wished for beside them _

_while no voices chanted  
choruses without ours,  
no woodlot bloomed in spring without song -Sappho. _

_This is the rest of the poem I read to you at the party, I thought you might like to know how it finishes! I hope you like the violets._

_Pippa x_

It’s a deal more personal than Hecate might have expected—to sign the note of poetry solely with her first name and isn’t something the duchess would have done herself were the roles reversed. Still, it does make her happy and even she cannot deny that the poem is beautiful, even more so in her neighbour’s handwriting which is a dove compared with the crow that is Hecate’s own spidery lettering that a dozen governesses hadn’t been able to correct.

She tucks the note underneath her pillow and then rings the bell that calls the maid, with the intention to get herself ready for the day and have the violets put into water. It is a blessing that Miss Pentangle does not waste any time in her own arrival and comes just after breakfast which is perfect for Hecate—especially since it’s gotten her out of trying to explain how the snail incident could possibly have been an accident to a rightfully unconvinced Miss Hallow.

The woman, dressed in pink as usual but has elected for a more practical style in pale pink this morning, comes with a basket again, full of flowers which lay on top of papers that it takes Hecate a moment to notice. “Follow me to my study, please.” Hecate nods to her, and they retreat to the private room with the hope that, should Ursula find herself in sudden need of her hostess’ presence, she won’t think to look there.

Pippa dumps the flowers out on the side of Hecate’s desk, which not so long ago was her father’s, and wipes the papers down. “Apologies for the water that’s spilled a little. I didn’t want Miss Hallow to think anything was amiss in case we ran into each other.”

“It’s perfectly alright, more so if you truly have what you say.” Hecate picks the papers up and starts to look at them.

“Most of them are bank transfers, you see, that I stole at the bequest of my father who believed that the Hallows were stealing money through their sons who worked in government—he was right, of course, but we never found any need of them. It would be their entire political undoing, and, I suppose, highlights why they might have such a persistent interest in the Hardbroom fortune—all their own money is gone. Aside from that…there are a few matters of a more personal nature that would tarnish their reputation from a more solely…scandalous perspective.”

Hecate flips through the money related documents until her fingers find pause on a letter, written in faded ink, addressed to one Peter Pentangle from Mr James Hallow, who with his father’s death has just risen to the title of Lord Hallow. Said message can be described solely as a love letter, whether it was reciprocated is a little unclear, but the rather shockingly graphic content would suggest so. She looks up at Pippa with very wide and uncomfortable eyes. “I…are you sure? Is Peter your brother? Wouldn’t this ruin his reputation too?”

“Peter moved to America years ago, a rural sector, so I doubt it’d touch him.” Pippa explains. “We’re very close, he wouldn’t care.”

“Even so.” Hecate shakes her head. “I thank you, and I believe that the financial documents might just save us, but I don’t think I could justify using that letter to myself. I mean—don’t you think it’s a little, I don’t know, cruel?”

Pippa frowns. “I mean only that it’s a crime, and it would get the Hallows in a dreadful amount of trouble should is surface.”

“No—I know, and I thank you—but—” She sighs and rubs a hand gently over her eye as if she were tired. “Ones emotions—I can’t help but feel that, even though it is illegal—that if it weren’t unavoidable—that is to say, if he could help it, wouldn’t it have never happened? And that it would be therefore cruel of me, no matter how good my intentions, to exploit vulnerability in an area one cannot change?”

The lady in pink frowns. “Do you name me cruel for suggesting you do so?”

“No! No, I do not, and I am eternally grateful for your assistance in this.” She hopes it comes across as sincere as she means it, because she hasn’t felt quite so strongly about something in a very long time. “But I—it reminds me of that poem. The one you read, and in the note. How Sappho is heartbroken over a woman, it seems, rather than a man—and surely, were she able to feel—normal? As God intended, as my father might say—then she would? And for one to then exploit that where it may not be necessary—if I fight back with matters of such a personal nature—then I am better than them in the first place?”

“You mean to say, you do not deem homosexuality as a sin? You do not condemn it as wrong?”

Hecate feels her cheeks heat up. “I…did not say that. I just believe that, perhaps, it is ingrained in people as is one’s eye colour, or one’s height. If I could change my eyes to blue like my mother, I would, but I cannot so they remain brown. Do you understand me?”

The other woman nods. “I…do.”

“And this is why I cannot justify condemning a man for something he cannot control, you see? That is not to say that I like him, or that I respect him in any way—I feel rather the opposite to that, given what he has tried to do to my family. But even though I do wish he would get into trouble—legally, I mean, enough to make him leave us alone—I feel that I cannot do that on the grounds of a crime that he, somehow, cannot control.” She swallows and looks up at Pippa who has an unreadable expression. “I understand is you don’t agree but—”

“No, no.” Pippa waves her hand up. “I do understand…completely, but I suppose I’ve never thought about it like that before. You could say I care little for _how_ someone goes down as long as they do, in a way.” She chuckles but it’s not happy. “And would you like to know something interesting?”

Hecate blinks. “…Yes?”

“Queen Victoria made it illegal for two men to take part in what she deems sinful activities, as you know, but she doesn’t believe that sort of thing could go on between women, and thus…” She stands and gently puts her hand on Hecate’s hand. “It’s entirely legal.”

Her hand lingers and then she pulls it away, Hecate too shocked to conjure any sort of response. Pippa smiles. “I’ll leave you to your deliberations, and in the knowledge that I have more copies of those documents should you find yourself in need of them. Call on me should you need anything else, and I shall come.”

She leaves, and Hecate remains frozen in her chair with her jaw hanging slightly open.

* * *

Phase two of Ethel’s plan also involves the trellis as a smuggling route, but instead of carrying snails up to Miss Hallow’s rooms instead they have acquired a bag full of mud.

The mud the gardeners use around the roses, more specifically, because Ethel said something about them using manure instead of soil because it makes the ground more fertile. Mildred isn’t really fussed about any of the logistics behind this—ever since Ethel started working on the greenhouse with Mama she won’t shut up about all her plant knowledge and it’s starting to get annoying—but is most certainly excited to see what her sister has in mind.

(She tried to convince Ethel to let Enid join them, because that would probably make this a more exciting than it is, but the opposing argument was that both Mildred and Enid together are accident prone and very loud which would give them away entirely which, as much as she might want to argue, Mildred can’t really deny.)

Once in Mildred’s bedroom, having taken their shoes off and leaving them on the windowsill to avoid tracking mud (something that Mildred almost never remembers to do, so there are pros to having Ethel around) they check to make sure there isn’t anybody in the corridor, and then slip into Miss Hallow’s empty room. Once inside, Mildred looks towards her sister.

“What do we do now?”

“This is preparation for later,” Ethel explains. “You take my manure—” She shoves the other bag onto Mildred who stumbles a little and resists the urge to take one hand away to plug her nose. “And I’m going to take out all her clothes. We’re going to rub it into the back of all her skirts so when she stands up it’ll—”

“It’ll look like she shat herself!” Mildred exclaims, grinning. “You’re an evil genius.”

Ethel rolls her eyes. “As if you didn’t already know that. And I don’t know where you learnt that sort of language, but it’s vulgar.”

Mildred rolls her eyes. “You need to get out more.”

She pulls out the clothes from the cases that were stacked up by the wall and lays them out on the bed for Mildred to ruin—not without the odd beratement every ten or so seconds to stop Mildred spilling it onto the bedsheets, or getting a little trigger happy with her spreading. When they’re done, they hurry to stuff everything back into the appropriate suitcases and then hurrying out of the room while trying to come up with an excuse for Miss Hubble as to why they’re late. Not that they’ll really need one today though, since no one really has the heart to tell them off after the gossip that they’re leaving has spread out, but it was be silly to turn up without some sure of alibi in the first place.

“You know, for what it’s worth…” Mildred says hesitantly as they go down the stairs. “If I do have to leave home with the mean Hallow woman, I’m happy that your coming with me.”

“Nice to know you’d like to condemn to the same grim fate.” Ethel scoffs.

“No—I mean, I’m glad I’d have you too. So I wouldn’t be alone, and neither would you.” She shakes her head. “It’s stupid, pretend I didn’t say anything.”

They make it to the door of their classroom where Ethel stands, poised to open it with a mouthful of apologies (probably blaming Mildred in the process) but stops, and turns to her, looking far more honest than she ever has before. “I’m glad I’d have you too.”

Mildred nods and smiles at her, and they go into together.

* * *

All things considered Hecate really should be focussing on confronting Ursula Hallow—and she wants to be! Desperately—but she can nought but focus on the presence of one Pippa Pentangle that has quickly arisen in her life. Hence why she finds herself running up to her bedroom, important documents in hand, and deflecting some worried questions from Ada as she snatches the poem from under pillow so she can read under harsh scrutiny.

_If you forget me, think_   
_of our gifts to Aphrodite_   
_and all the loveliness that we shared._

Of all poems, why did Pippa choose _this_ collection to show her? It is some implication of…romance, that she would like to pursue with Hecate—which is a ridiculous notion, because there is no world in which Hecate Hardbroom is good enough for soft, sweet Pippa—or is she misreading the signs terribly here? If she is, and the broached the subject even vaguely then it would be disastrous and really she should be dismissing the entire idea completely because she enjoys the friendship they’ve created, is very grateful and lucky to have a friend of her compassion and kindness…and yet.

And yet there is this feeling in her stomach that bubbles up whenever she sees her, something that seems almost beyond friendship that she never felt with any of her husbands that she sinfully can name— _homosexuality—_ but never aloud for fear that someone, anyone, may hear her. She wants to ignore it, but she _can’t_ because every time she tries her mind falls back to Pippa’s thrice damned soft, gentle hands and her smile and her eyes that are so deep, and light, and happy in a way her own never have been.

Part of her wonders if Pippa’s skin is so soft all over her body—if under her slip everything is smooth and delicate like Hecate imagines—like is so opposite to her own. Hecate’s body is ravaged with scars and cold to the touch—her back bears the welts of a whip and her stomach carries silver lines of overstretching that were inevitable, really, but do not cease to make her self-conscious. Her hands are veiny, and her fingers are like talons, long and angular as if ready to scratch someone’s eyes out. She could never be desirable in that way to anyone—let alone a woman like _Pippa_ —so why is it she feels as if she’s being a little flirted with, even if it can’t, surely, be true?

She holds the note to her lips and stares out of her window, over to Pippa’s house where once the noise had bothered her sleep, and now gives her comfort to know everything is working as it should. That there is still life in the house, even though that’s something that initially she had dreaded.

Hecate sighs, and sits down on her bed, closing her eyes. Everything feels so unstable around her, as it generally always has done, but for the first time she has the power to _do_ something about it without father’s or husband’s or anyone telling her what to do and that, in itself, should be blessing. She can get Ursula Hallow to go away, she has all the power in her hands for the first time ever and it’s time she used it—so she banishes Pippa from her mind the best she can, and marches downstairs to find Miss Hallow and sort her life out.

* * *

“What’s the next step of our plan?” Mildred whispers to Ethel, as Miss Hubble lets them out to go and play for a little while before lunch.

“Well, you’re in luck.” Ethel clicks her tongue like something’s irritated her. “We can let Enid in on this part, only because we’ll need her. Yesterday I asked Miss Tapioca if she would make broccoli and stilton soup—”

Mildred makes a retching sound. “Why would you do that?! It’s disgusting.”

“It’s not, but that’s hardly the point. She’s agreed to because she feels bad for me, which is good, but that’s not the point either. She hates Enid a lot after she stole all those jam tarts, and when she knocked over the Victoria sponge and…well, there’s a long list of reasons why Miss Tapioca hates Enid which is why she’s perfect for a distraction.”

“A distraction?”

Ethel nods. “Yes. I’m going to put egg in the soup.”

Mildred stares at her. “This is supposed to get Miss Hallow not to take us. Does she not like eggs or something?”

“No, stupid, no one will be able to taste it.” Ethel rolls her eyes. “Do you remember who Mama put opposite to Miss Hallow this morning because of the disaster of last time?”

“Uh…Sybil, right?”

“Yes. Sybil.” Ethel nods. “And who vomits when she even has the barest hint of egg?”

Mildred’s eyebrows shoot up. “Sybil!”

Ethel grins. “Exactly. And I reckon it’ll hit Miss Hallow given Sybil’s history with projectiles—and even if it doesn’t, it should still repulse her deeply.”

“I don’t want to make Sybil sick, though. What if it’s serious?”

“Well, she hasn’t died yet and she’s constantly eating things she’s not supposed to, and besides, if we did tell her about it beforehand you know she’d agree.”

“She’s three years old, she’ll agree to most things.”

“That is not the point.” Ethel sighs. “Now go and get Enid and tell her to bother Miss Tapioca. I don’t imagine she’ll take much more convincing than that to do it given the track record—especially if we tell her there’s chocolate biscuits.”

“Are there really chocolate—”

“Not the point, stupid!” Ethel groans. “Sometimes I really question how there’s only an hour between our births, you make me look at least two decades older sometimes.”

“Forty-five minutes, actually.”

“Stop talking!”

Mildred throws her hands up in surrender and calls for Enid through the window, who is a little relieved at not being forgotten by her best friend on what could be her last day at home. It would be a lie to say that the twins spending more time together than strictly necessary is a very weird to look at, and Enid does ask for an explanation as expected but Mildred does agree that it’s best not to get her involved directly so just asks her to bother Miss Tapioca. It takes no more than that to get Enid on board, who happily skips down to the kitchen to do that.

It’s not even five minutes before Miss Tapioca has been coaxed into a screaming fit at Enid for trying to snatch her strawberries (it’s a little funny that, since Enid is the daughter of Miss Tapioca’s employer, she really shouldn’t have much problem with having her produce pinched but Mama has never come far enough down the stairs to reach the kitchen and so has never dealt with any of the kitchen-related problems, thus they continue since Miss Hubble doesn’t tend to report them and Enid finds them amusing more than anything else). Ethel and Mildred take this as their opportunity, and sneak behind the cook, snatching some eggs from the side of the counter.

“Let me crack them, you’ll be useless.” Ethel commands in a whisper-quiet tone and Mildred pouts.

“You’ve never done this before, and neither have I. You’ll be no better than I am.”

“Don’t be stupid. I’m better at you at everything.”

“Well, last time I checked I can swim, and you can’t!”

“That’s only because you’ve had lessons. If Mama took me out to learn then I’m sure I’d get it way quicker than you did but some of us find intellectual pursuits more fulfilling.”

“Well, cracking an egg is hardly an _‘intellectual pursuit’_ so let me do it!” Mildred mimics, and then goes on her tiptoes, smashing the egg on the side of the pot. On the plus side, the yolk and white part of the egg does all end up in the soup which is good, but so does a good portion of the shell which earns her a slap on the arm from Ethel—but turns out not to be a problem, because she smashes it down to the bottom with a wooden spoon so Miss Tapioca won’t see it.

Ethel still looks angry. “If you’re done being clueless, we should go before Miss Tapioca takes a breath and notices Enid’s not the only one here.”

“One second!” Mildred snatches two more eggs of the counter and then starts to head for the door which receives a confused look from Ethel that she dismisses. There isn’t easy access to eggs anywhere else in the house and…they might come in useful later. Besides, now they’ve got to focus on getting Enid away from Miss Tapioca.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hecate encounters some problems. Mildred and Ethel may or not be some of these problems.

Hecate isn’t very good at confrontation when it comes to personal matters.

She’s excellent at confrontations if it’s to scold someone, because then she has the position of authority and can do from it whatever she likes, and as a general rule she’s quite good at pretending to be interested when someone has come to lecture her (since the most part of her life up to this point has consisted of that sort of thing) but this is quite unlike anything else she’s ever had to do, so she’s not entirely sure how to go about it.

Ada advises her to summon Miss Hallow to her office and present the facts as they are, then going onto a more proper negotiation, like one in business would do, and Hecate can’t exactly think of a better idea in that moment so sends for her rival. Even so, while she’s waiting Hecate can’t quite manage to sit still. She has Ada stay in the room—not because she thinks anything worth intervention is going to happen, but because she knows if she freezes up then Ada can take over.

Legs crossed. Uncrossed. She straightens the papers and spins the globe that was her father’s (the only thing of his that remains in the office space) before stilling it abruptly with her hand. She’s about to spin it again when Ada interrupts.

“There’s no need to be nervous—everything will work out fine, you’ll see.” The housekeeper assures her.

Hecate bites her lip. “How can you be sure of that?”

“Logically, if she wants to keep her family any modicum of respect, then she’ll have to agree to what you ask. If not, you’ll just have to follow through on your threats and then I think you’ll be within your rights to ask for the girls back, since it wouldn’t do to have future heiresses being raised by and poor and ruined family.” Ada says. “Either way, Miss Pentangle has truly saved you.”

She doesn’t particularly enjoy the idea that she has been or would ever need to be ‘saved’ though if someone must do it, she’s glad that it’s Pippa. She’ll have to give her something back if this all works out, throw some soiree since she likes those and sneak off into the library—or…oh, well, she’ll figure it out. It’s not really the time to be thinking about that. She needs to focus on the task at hand first.

“I know.” Hecate sighs, though she doesn’t. “I just…I want this to all be over.”

“I know, your ladyship—and it will be soon.” Ada nods. “Before you know it.”

If Hecate is going to reply, she is interrupted by the swinging open of the door and the arrival of a rather aggravated looking Miss Hallow. The duchess makes a mental note to apologise to the cowering maid standing behind who no doubt has been the unfortunate soul to deliver Hecate’s summons. “Miss Hallow.” She says. “Please, take a seat.”

“Lady Hardbroom, if this is another feeble attempt at—”

“Take a seat.” She repeats, hoping her tone is a steely as she intends. Apparently so, given that Miss Hallow does sit down without protest despite the scowl etched onto her face.

“I have come across some…sensitive documents that may have some rather serious implications for your family.” Hecate says, and gently slides them over to Miss Hallow. “I advise you read before ripping them, though it would be futile given that I have access to copies. It is not my intention to do anything with this information, but should you force my hand…” She cocks her head to the side slightly. “You may leave me with no choice.”

Ursula Hallow stares at the documentation of account transfers from her father, detailing hefty amounts being taken from the government funds into their own account and the sheer poverty they were left in before such transfers were made. Whether Hallow was aware of this before seeing the papers which, in truth, Hecate isn’t sure about becomes quite clear at the expression of anger on her face as opposed to surprise that might have been expected. “Well, my father is dead Lady Hardbroom—so the law will have no problem with him.” Miss Hallow replies.

“That is true, but I very much doubt they wouldn’t take all the money back and then fine the family in your father’s name.” Hecate supplies. “And, given this documentation, I’d say that you’d rather like to disassociate from all of your father’s work—the wishes regarding my daughter’s upbringing, as an example.”

“Our family will fall without their fortune.” Hallow adds, a little more meekly, perhaps banking on the fact that Hecate will feel empathetic enough to help them out.

Alas, the duchess has no such feelings. “While, I’m sure, upsetting for you—that is not my problem.” Hecate says.

“But your husband was a Hallow. Surely, in his name—”

“I also had a Nightshade husband, a Foxglove husband, a Twigg husband—need I go on? None of their names have been carried through with my daughters, and none of them were particularly kind to me. I owe them nothing and even if I did, do you really think it plausible that I give money to all these families solely because they died before they could get their hands on my money in the first place? I owe you nothing, but I shall give you until the end of the day to collect yourself before you leave tomorrow morning.”

Miss Hallow sits back for a moment. “I will still be taking the girls.”

Hecate freezes. “Pardon me?”

“You can publish those documents but that doesn’t stop the agreement with your father being legal and binding should we wish to honour it. If I take your girls and you publish those documents then they will be undoubtedly living in very poor circumstances that would be entirely inflicted by you, thus I don’t believe, even if I do take them, that you would go through with it.” Miss Hallow looks smug but Hecate’s fists are clenching underneath the table, and she looks over to Ada who is nodding in the corner of her eye.

Hecate snatches the documents back from Miss Hallow and hands them to Ada. “Miss Cackle, can you please send these to The Times please. I’m sure they will be delighted with it.”

“Of course, your ladyship.” Ada nods to her and leaves the room despite the protests of Ursula Hallow who glares at Hecate vehemently, looking genuinely shocked.

“Do not think even that changes my mind. If you wish to condemn your daughters to a life of poverty then so be it—but know that, as I _legally_ take them from you tomorrow morning I do it not for the betterment of my own family anymore, but to make you suffer for the injustice you have served my family.” She stands abruptly and spins on her heel, marching out of the office.

Hecate remains, still in her desk. It should have _worked._ She feels her lip tremble and buries her face in her hands, muffled sobs echoing through the room.

_What have I done?_

* * *

While Lady Hardbroom does attend luncheon, she doesn’t quite feel like she’s in the room. She can hear, absently, Miss Hallow scolding Enid for eating sloppily and while normally, out of sheer resentment for the woman, she would defend her daughter her mind isn’t quite present enough to join the conversation. She just can’t believe she _failed,_ that even the destruction of the woman’s entire family isn’t enough to make her leave them alone. Part of her feels bad, because she knows that there are children in the Hallow family too—she remembers from her first wedding a little girl who was her bridesmaid, Esmeralda, who unlike most of the people at the ceremony she had been fond of. She has just sentenced the entire Hallow family, innocent and guilty, to a life of hardship and poverty because of this whole mess and has gained nothing to show for it other than lumping her own daughters in that sinking ship with them.

They can obviously file to get Ethel and Mildred back in the courts, which might very well turn out in their favour, but that will take months of her children being away, being cold and uncared for.

Her musings are interrupted rather violently when Sybil throws up into her soup bowl, though having turned her head last minute it has also splashed onto Miss Hallow who makes a shriek of discomfort. Miss Hubble is summoned straight away to take Sybil down to her room and call the doctor—it’s probably just her harmless egg allergy, but you can never be too careful—and had Hecate been a little more with it she might have noticed Ethel and Mildred uncharacteristically grinning at each other but she’s not, so she stands and leaves them to their devices, ashamed to face them knowing that in this one thing that matters she has failed them.

Mildred and Ethel have no such notions, however, and for their part are rather happy with how the day is going about.

“Stop smiling at each other.” Clarice says as they are ushered out of the dining room. “It doesn’t look natural.”

“Aren’t we allowed to be happy that Sybil threw up on Miss Hallow? It certainly made today better.” Mildred replies.

“Snails this morning, Sybil now…” Felicity frowns. “Are you two doing something?”

Ethel smirks. “Maybe.”

Enid perks up. “That’s why you had me distract Miss Tapioca! Because you were putting eggs in the soup to make Sybil sick—that’s super clever! I wish you’d told me, but it was a nice surprise. But why are you doing it?”

“Is hating Miss Hallow not reason enough?” Ethel raises an eyebrow.

“Has it got something to do with what the maids were whispering about, that you’re going away with her?” Felicity asks. “Because you know Mama would never let her do that.”

“She might not have a choice, so we’re…trying to reassure Miss Hallow that she really, really doesn’t want any of us.” Mildred grins. “Do you think she’ll have got the message yet, or do we need to do more?”

“I don’t know about _need,_ ” Enid says. “But I’d sure quite like to. I have lots of ideas involving Miss Tapioca’s blancmange and that beehive that we’re not allowed to go near on the big elm tree.”

* * *

Sybil didn’t know what she was expecting to happen after she threw up, but this certainly isn’t it.

Apparently, there were eggs in the soup (proven by the bits of shell Clarice pulled out of her teeth)—Miss Cackle told Miss Tapioca off for that and Sybil kind of wishes she could have seen that because it’s funny when adults tell off other adults. But Miss Hubble’s making her stay in bed ‘just in case’ even though that’s stupid because she feels fine now and wants to go and play with her sisters.

“Please, Miss Hubble! I promise I won’t be sick again; I double promise.” She says, pouting.

“I’m sorry little miss, doctor’s orders.” Miss Hubble sits on the side of her bed. “Now, try and take a nap, the time will go quicker and then tomorrow you’ll be able to go out again if you’re still feeling better.”

Sybil stands up on her mattress. “I don’t want to! Please Miss Hubble.” She hobbles over to the governess and wraps her arms around her, as if some show of affection is going to change her mind. Though, given she’s three years old and the youngest of the Hardbroom brood, this does often work for her—she’s got the big blue eyes and little blonde curls that tend to trick an unsuspecting grownup into giving her the last biscuit or picking her up because her little legs are tired.

(Nine times out of ten her legs aren’t tired; Sybil just quite likes being held.)

“I’m afraid that’s not going to work today, love.” Miss Hubble chuckles. “Now get into bed, and I’ll call Miss Bat in to read you a bit more of the nutcracker.”

“You won’t read it to me?”

“I’ve got to go and make sure your sisters haven’t caused too much havoc while I’ve been here.” She smiles, though Sybil makes no move to get into bed. “Now come on, love, the sooner you get yourself to sleep the sooner it’ll be morning.”

Sybil’s about to continue her protest when there’s a knock at the door which reveals itself to be Lady Hardbroom herself—something that _never_ happens. Miss Hubble can’t quite keep the look of shock off her face, and for once even Sybil seems apprehensive about her mother’s foreign presence in her bedroom. “Is everything alright, Lady Hardbroom?”

It’s quite clear from the expression on her face that everything is, in fact, not alright but the duchess does not say so—instead, she simply inclines her head and looks towards Sybil. “I just wanted to make sure Sybil was feeling better after…the events of the meal.”

The phrase _I cannot abide sick children_ arises in Miss Hubble’s mind, something that her employer has said multiple times over the years and, really, not that long ago in retrospect, but it’s hardly the time or place to bring something like that up so she just stands up. “Of course, your ladyship. Would you like to give me the room, I’d best check on the other girls anyway. I left them with Ivy, the new maid, but they have a habit of…escaping her.”

The duchess nods. “Yes. I’d think that best.”

Sybil frowns as her mother approaches her, sitting on the side of her bed, and decides it’s probably best if she does actually get under the covers even if she hasn’t been asked this time. “Are you here to read, Mama? Miss Bat normally does it.”

Miss Bat had been Hecate’s own governess and though she’s too old now to keep up with the six girls she still stays around the manor and enjoys spending time with the them here and there. They don’t have a living grandmother—or, not one that cares enough to come and see them—so the old woman is like a surrogate version, or the best they’re ever going to get. “I can read if you’d like me to.” Hecate says, sitting herself down on the side of Sybil’s bed. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t feeling poorly anymore.”

Sybil shakes her head. “No, I feel _fine,_ but Miss Hubble says I can’t go and play.”

“She’s right, it’s better to be safe than sorry.” Hecate says, and reaches out to brush a stray curl out of Sybil’s face. “Now, which book is Miss Bat reading to you now—or would you like to pick a different one?”

The little girl tilts her head to the side, regarding her mother as if she were some sort of curiosity. “Can I sit on your lap?”

In truth Hecate isn’t sure what possessed her to come and visit Sybil of all people right now. Logic would dictate that she goes and see if Miss Pentangle has anything else that could help the situation as unlikely as that is, or at least spend time with Ethel and Mildred if it’s the last she’s going to see of them for a while. Perhaps Sybil would be the normal destination for normal parents in a regular family but Hecate has never previously been around her children when they’re ill since there are always other people to deal with things like that, and there have always been better things to do so that’s not really an excuse either.

But Sybil is her littlest and last child, and she won’t be small for long, so somewhere innately Hecate needs some time to be with someone who cannot understand what she’s done wrong and, for now at least, won’t judge her—just listen sleepily as she reads the adventures of Clara in the nutcracker, from Hecate’s lap. It takes her about twenty minutes before she falls against Hecate’s chest, her hair mussed and her cheek squished against the bodice, so Hecate carefully lays her down and tucks her in.

She sets the book on the bedside table and leans over to press and gentle kiss to Sybil’s forehead, lingering in a quiet promise never to let anything like Ursula Hallow happen to her family again.

All Sybil knows is that she wasn’t expecting to fall asleep in her mother’s arms for the first time ever after she threw up on Miss Hallow, but she hopes it’ll happen again someday.

* * *

After tearing herself away from Sybil’s room, Hecate heads to her own room to change into something a little more comfortable and ties a cloth over her hair to try and hide her face—Ada, as asked, is downstairs keeping Miss Hallow occupied so that she can sneak out of the back door and over to Pippa’s home. Part of her wants to snatch the letter between Pippa’s brother and the current Lord Hallow in a final attempt to try and stop the inevitability of what’s going to happen tomorrow even if it does conflict with her own morals—because, ethically, she really wasn’t built for anything like this—but she knows rationally than even if she does try it it’s very unlikely it would change anyone’s mind.

The threat of social and economic collapse should have been enough of a threat, but now it’s come true and nothing has changed other than Mildred and Ethel’s future looking significantly drearier Hecate feels that she can do nought but try and come up with another solution. Thus far, it’s proving to be entirely fruitless, so the only logical next step is to go to her neighbour who is a lot cleverer than anyone ever seems to give her credit for.

And though, unconsciously, this may have something to do with the feelings Hecate’s desperately trying to bury that have arisen regarding Miss Pentangle, her own bewilderment has not allowed that to slip into her conscious mind. So when she knocks at the door (she would have been surprised that she is so evidently expected were it not for her focus being entirely elsewhere) and is quickly received in the drawing room she wastes no time on pleasantries—instead starring at her pink friend, eyes filling up with water.

Pippa looks very alarmed and stands immediately. “Hecate? What’s wrong, has something happened?”

She lets out a pained cry and then rushes to cover her mouth, eyes redirecting to the ground. “I- _No_.”

“No?”

“I showed her the files, but _nothing changed_! I mailed them and…” She shakes her head. “She did not budge. I’m going to lose them, I’m…I’ve failed them.”

“Dear lord.” Pippa runs to take Hecate up in her arms, the latter not quite finding the strength to pull away from her who seems to be the epicentre of all the warmth in the room. “I…I’m sure we can come up with something, there’s still time. All their wealth will be gone soon once that article is published, and they certainly won’t take their time, so there must be some loophole in the law about environment, or the children’s rights, or—”

“Stop.” Hecate bites her lip. “Just…I wanted to come here to find something else but, well, if there isn’t anything…”

“What if Miss Hallow just…disappeared?”

Hecate jumps back, her eyebrows having flown upwards. “I beg your pardon?”

“I mean, if she somehow was eliminated from the situation.” Pippa explains. “…Permanently?”

“Are you—are you suggesting _murder?_ ” She says it in a hushed tone.

The lady in pink has the audacity to shrug as if she were talking about what to have for dinner, or when to go for a walk. “I suppose I’m not _not_ talking about it. Infer what you will, but if that’s what is being called for…”

Hecate has never claimed to be a particularly good Christian, nor is she even very certain that she believes there is a God, but even she feels a shiver go down her spine at the suggestion. “I…I could never condone anything so wrong, so—well, there aren’t quite any words. Why would you even suggest such a thing?!”

Pippa crosses her arms. “I didn’t suggest anything, really. And I’m trying to _help_ you, and as I said before, I have no issues with _how_ people go down as long as they do.”

“But why would you even—”

“For you! I would do anything for you, you absolute fool!” Pippa cries. “I’ve _done_ everything I can for you. You come back here as if to ask for more help, and I’m more than willing to give it but you have to give me something back, Hecate—all I’m asking for here is a little less judgement!”

The duchess takes a deep breath and attempts to calm herself. “I—I didn’t mean to offend you. But what you _infer_ is outright wrong. I’m sorry I just…” She pauses, as if Pippa’s words are finally sinking in. “You would do it for…me?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

“I’ve just never supposed, in any sense that you might…” She bites her lip. “You’ve been doing all of this for _me_?”

“Yes! What, did you just suspect me of some sort of benevolence? I certainly try my hardest to be kind and good to all, but I don’t give away family crushing leverage to just anyone, you know—and I certainly don’t run away from my own parties with just anyone either. You are an intelligent woman, Hecate Hardbroom, but you’re certainly giving me a hard time believing it if you truly thought I was doing this for any other reason.”

“I thought…the girls. You are fond of the girls.”

Pippa sighs exasperatedly. “Yes, of course, but there are thousands of children all over the country and I’m not helping all of them, am I? I’m helping _you._ ” She leans forwards to place her hand gently on Hecate’s shoulder. “And through all this argument, I think I may have just come up with a solution.”

“You…have?” Hecate’s eyes widen.

“You remember how I told you I have a brother living in America who has a taste for…well, the letter speaks for itself, really.” She says, and Hecate tries not to blush as she nods. “You could always…marry him.”

“What? He’s…how would that even—with my track record, how would that even—”

“Shh. Listen.” Pippa puts her finger of Hecate’s lips; an act feels so newly intimate that Hecate does indeed shut up. “It won’t be a proper marriage, and after the ceremony he’ll just go back out to America so it’s not like you’ll have to actually see each other. But it’ll be documentation that there’s a male authority within the family, and so the Hallow’s won’t be able to do anything.”

“I…I don’t think you’ve discussed this with your brother.”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter.” She waves her hand in the air with an air of nonchalance. “He won’t mind, he owes me one anyway. And my parents would be delighted to see him married to someone like you, so that’s a plus. Maybe then they’ll lay off me a little.”

Hecate smiles just a little. “This…” She shakes her head good-naturedly. “This is an awful long way to go to secure a good marriage for your brother.”

Pippa laughs loudly and Hecate finds herself chuckling alongside her, she doesn’t _want_ to marry anyone else particularly and engagements usually take at least a few months to arrange, but if Pippa’s brother is a man who truly has no interest in women and will be living on the other side of the planet then…

Well, then Hecate might have finally found a husband she’ll like.

And besides, if she can claim to be engaged with close relative in the form of Pippa to vouch for her, Miss Hallow’s male authority claim may have just gotten a little weaker.

* * *

“I’m sorry, WHAT?” Mildred asks, standing, and Hecate struggles not to wince. Normally she’d make a comment about her raising her tone like that but concedes that, just this once, she’s probably entitled to some mixed feelings with everything that’s going on.

“Your mother is going to marry my brother.” Pippa supplies. “You won’t have to leave with Miss Hallow.”

“Mama, you don’t even know Miss Pentangle’s brother!” Mildred’s arms fly up in the air to illustrate her confusion, her twin sitting by her, silent and pensive. “How can you marry a stranger?”

Hecate almost says _it wouldn’t be the first time_ but decides that’s not really a healthy comment to make, since she’s got an image of Mildred and Ethel’s father in her head as she thinks it. Instead, she says: “It would be a marriage of convenience, Mildred, nothing more. He would live in America anyway, and have nothing to do with us on anything other than paper.”

Mildred blinks. “So…no new stepfather?”

Hecate nods in agreement. “No new stepfather.”

“And no new sisters?”

“There will be no more children from me, I assure you.” She shivers at the thought. “That ship has very much sailed.”

Very unhelpfully, Pippa snorts next to her. “I’m sure you could get a few more out if you really tried.”

The duchess glares at her. “I suppose it’s a good job I’m not trying then, isn’t it?”

“He won’t have any…power over you, will he?” Ethel asks, almost hesitantly, breaking her silence.

Hecate frowns. “No, I wouldn’t imagine so. It’s not going to be a normal marriage; not like you’ll remember of Sybil and Clarice’s fathers. This one is my choice, and my choice only, and should have very minimal effects on things if what Miss Pentangle assures me is true, and I trust her.”

It almost surprises her to say that out loud in front of other people, but it’s honest, so she doesn’t let it bother her.

Mildred sighs, and flops down next to her sister. “You’d really do that…for us?”

The fact they’d ever believe she _wouldn’t_ tells Hecate she still has a ways to go to make their relationship as strong as she wants it to be, but it’s hardly the time to dwell on that. Instead, she slips down onto her knees in front of Ethel and Mildred, taking a hand in each of her own and looking up at them both with a solemn expression. “I would do _anything_ for you. Both of you, and your sisters. This, for me, is nothing in exchange forgetting to keep you with me.”

The younger twin sighs and then squeezes her mother’s hand, angling her eyeline to the floor. “All right. But…if we can stay, can I ask you do one more thing?”

Hecate frowns. “Is something wrong?”

“Not wrong but…” She looks up and meets her eyes. “I know you still think we’re little kids but we’re not babies, and I don’t like it when you keep things from us. You should have told us about Miss Hallow before she invaded us, you should have told us ages ago.”

The duchess sighs. “I didn’t see any point in worrying you both prematurely.”

“But it’s our _job_ to worry.” Ethel chimes in. “I’m going to inherit this estate one day and I know it’s hard being a woman in charge of everything, hard to make people take you seriously. I can only learn, and so can the rest of us, if you _show_ us how to do it in the first place. Please don’t keep secrets from us, Mama.”

“I’ll…” Hecate trails off. “I’ll try not to. Try my absolute best. And I _promise_ that when the day comes that you do need to take over, you’ll be ready—both of you. I promise I’ll never force you to do anything you really don’t want to, I promise you’ll _always_ have a home here should you need it and I promise that, no matter what, I will permanently love you, and support you even if sometimes it doesn’t seem like it. I haven’t done a lot of things right in my life, and I haven’t had a lot of choice in all of that, but amongst all of that I had both of you and…” She swallows, not wanting them to see her get emotional. “You are the only reason I keep going. You both, and your sisters, are _everything_ to me.”

Both girls slide off their seats onto the floor beside her, looking up at her wide-eyed. “Do you really mean that?” Mildred asks.

Hecate smiles at her, pulling them both close to her. “I have never meant anything more.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things are starting to work themselves out.

The intention is that Hecate will go to Miss Hallow to tell her about the engagement herself, but she is interrupted by various issues with schooling from Miss Cackle and so is put on hold for about twenty minutes.

Twenty minutes is all that Ethel and Mildred need to, partly, conclude their own plan.

(Previously deciding that anything involving the beehive may prove to be a little too dangerous for them pull off, even if Enid was desperate to give it a go.)

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Mildred asks as her twin drags her up the stairs in the direction of Miss Hallow’s room.

“Yes.” Ethel replies curtly, though how sure she actually is about it has become unclear. “An engagement should be enough to dissuade her but with Mama having sent the documents to the newspaper she might just be angry enough to take us until the actual wedding which, given the time it takes for letters to reach America and the journey itself, shouldn’t be for a few months _at least._ I’m not taking any chances.”

Mildred sighs. “Okay. But if this backfires, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Not bothering to knock, Ethel pushes Miss Hallow’s door right open to reveal the woman sitting by her desk writing something, and then looks up in anger at the interruption. She forces her face to soften slightly at the sight of who has elected to interrupt her and tries to smile. “My beloved nieces. To what do I owe this…pleasure?”

“We wanted to tell you how much we _hate_ what you’re doing. And that we hope you rot in hell where you and everyone else who tries to tell our mother what to do belongs.” Ethel says, voice firm and arms crossed.

Miss Hallow stands up, anger flooding onto her expression without reluctance this time. “That is a despicable statement, and when you’re with me you shall learn the _consequences_ for your actions even if you’re mother lets you get away with anything. Young ladies should _never_ speak to their betters like that.”

“You’re doing this to get back at Mama, but you haven’t even thought about us!” Mildred cries. “If this was about anything other than bitter revenge—the reason you feel any of that, by the way, you brought upon _yourself_ —then you would have at least come to see us, speak to us, before you took us away from home.”

“I would have, might I remind you that it’s _your mother_ who kept you both hidden away.” Hallow raises an eyebrow.

“If you really cared, _that wouldn’t have mattered!_ ” Ethel, uncharacteristically, shouts. “You would have _tried;_ we would have known you before all of this.”

“ _This_ is why the agreement between your grandfather and my father was made in the first place. If your father was around, he would have whipped you both into—”

“We don’t need a father.” Mildred says. “And we don’t need you. We don’t _want_ you.”

Miss Hallow’s lips curl into a smile. “I’m afraid you both have very little choice in the matter.”

“We do if Mama gets married again, and she _is._ She’s engaged to Miss Pentangle’s brother.” Ethel says. “So just _leave_.”

“ _Peter_ Pentangle?” Miss Hallow laughs, shaking her head. “There is no way that man ever consented to marrying any _woman_ —I’ll believe that when I see it. Now stop spinning tall tales and have a maid pack your bags, we leave early tomorrow morning.”

Ethel looks to Mildred and whispers: “ _Pass me an egg._ ”

Mildred frowns. “What?”

“Just do it!”

A little uneasy at the reasoning, Mildred passes her sister one of the eggs she stole from Miss Tapioca earlier and then watches in delight as her sister pelts it at the woman from across the room, with surprisingly good aim what gets Miss Hallow right in the cheek. Mildred gasps and giggles as Miss Hallow stands frozen in shock, throwing her own egg that misses her face but does hit her square in the chest, yolk dripping down onto her skirts.

Miss Hallow slowly wipes some splattered egg out of her eye. If looks could kill, Mildred is pretty sure her and Ethel would be six feet under right now.

“You—” The woman shrieks and runs at them, the twins opting to bolt out of the room and head downstairs towards literally anyone else to protect them from the egg-covered monster that’s hunting them down. “GET BACK HERE!”

They get to the bottom of the stairs, Miss Hallow’s thunderous steps coming after them, and breathless Ethel says: “You go right, I’ll go left. She can’t chase us both.”

Without time to argue for the merits of sticking together, Mildred agrees and sprints off to the right head turned to see who Miss Hallow opts to follow.

It seems even in this Mildred’s infallible rotten luck follows through and Miss Hallow’s making a beeline for her. Even better, she doesn’t turn back around quick enough to stop her crashing headfirst right into Miss Pentangle.

She grabs the woman’s arms before she can knock her over completely and flashes her an apologetic smile. Miss Pentangle looks more concerned than annoyed and shoots the now still Miss Hallow a confused look. “Is everything alright, Mildred?”

“Peachy.” Mildred tries to smile.

It’s quite clear that Miss Pentangle doesn’t believe her, the lady in pink narrows her eyes at Miss Hallow. “I think there a little shell…” She gestures to Miss Hallow’s eyebrow. “There.”

“I was assaulted by that little demon and her sister.”

“So was I, apparently, though I see no reason to get into a fuss about it.” Mildred gives her another apologetic look and scratches the back of her neck meekly. “I’d advise you go and clean yourself up, Miss Hallow. It would be rather improper for Lady Hardbroom to see you like that, and I happen to know she was looking for you.”

The other woman hisses. “Why, pray tell, does she seek me out this time?”

“Oh, I hardly want to spoil it, but it’s tremendous news.” Pippa clasps her hands together. “Let’s just say that my dear brother may be paying us a visit soon.”

“Your—your brother?” She blanches. “I— _that’s true?_ ”

Mildred beams and nods.

“You told her?” Pippa sighs. “I shouldn’t be surprised, should I?”

“Actually, it’s Ethel who told her.” Mildred replies, and then adds: “Make sure to mention that if Mama asks.”

“Don’t you think it’s wonderful news, Miss Hallow?” Pippa grins.

Ursula Hallow is somewhere wanting to tear her hair out and scream.

* * *

When Hecate finally gets around to breaking the news to Miss Hallow herself, it turns out that she probably shouldn’t have bothered since everyone else seems to have gotten there first. Still, the look on the woman’s face was enough to warrant a visit, so it’s hardly a wasted journey. Hallow, of course, requires more proof that comes in the form of a forged letter Pippa managed to produce (Hecate did question the integrity of doing so, but given that her neighbour may or may not have brought murder onto the table not long ago, it makes a little forgery look quite tame).

“It seems that the tides of fortune have returned to mine own favour, Miss Hallow.” Hecate says, fighting not to grin at her. She doesn’t want to appear a bad winner, after all. “And so, I must request that you leave my property first thing tomorrow morning. I think you’ve done enough damage her to last a long while yet.”

“I…I could take the girls until the wedding.” To her credit, Ursula Hallow still holds her head up high. “I could still take them for a time.”

“You could,” Hecate concedes, nodding gently. “But you won’t if you’d like to receive a small sum as a token of my…apology, for allowing the public to be aware of your family’s indiscretions.” She hands the woman a cheque, an amount of money that is negligible to herself but should be enough for the Hallows to maintain a middle-class lifestyle for the foreseeable future. “The terms of this cheque, of course, are that it is to be split equally between all family members—children included.”

She does not do this out of the kindness of her heart, nor the vehement desire to rid herself of Miss Hallow though that probably plays into it a little. It is more a nagging sense of guilt that’s been plaguing her ever since she sent the letter out—the feeling that she may have ruined the lives of the children of the Hallow house, and others who have done nought to offend her and will suffer as the results of her actions. Hecate never wants to be thought of as cruel, so hopes the money will be enough to help them somewhat.

And it’s not something Ursula Hallow is in a position to decline.

* * *

Enid twirls happily, spinning a giggling Sybil on her back as Ethel and Mildred deliver the news that Miss Hallow is going to be leaving them alone. After a long description (that contained its fair share of heroic exaggerations) it’s safe to say that the Hardbroom household has returned to a mood of general happiness and excitement.

This is further elevated by Miss Hallow’s departure, which is taken in a dress stained at the back (Mildred _insists_ she had nothing to do with this, and for sheer amusement Hecate is content to believe her) to look rather unfortunate. They wouldn’t normally, but the family all assemble outside to wave her off with Miss Pentangle coming over to see too, unable to supress what can only be described as a cackle upon spying Hallow’s dress.

Not seeing any Hallow again anytime soon is something Hecate is excited to do.

“She isn’t going to come back again, is she?” Felicity asks, looking up at her mother.

Lady Hardbroom shakes her head. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“And this time you really do have a say. I’m sure there aren’t any more unfortunate agreements left behind by your father—the power is, finally, is in your hands.” Pippa says as the carriage rolls away, gently taking Hecate’s hand in her own.

“Well, I couldn’t have done it without you.” Hecate smiles at her. “You truly have been my, ‘knight in shining armour’, as it were.”

Pippa chuckles. “I do my best, fair lady.” She mocks a bow.

“Does this mean, if you’re marrying her brother, that Miss Pentangle can stay forever and ever?” Sybil asks, released from Enid’s grasp and holding her arms to the lady in pink instead.

“I’m not sure if she’ll really want to be lumbered with us _forever and ever,_ but she’s certainly welcome whenever and for however long she likes.” Hecate says.

“You presume too much, Lady Hardbroom.” Pippa grins and hoists the little girl up onto her hip. “I’m here for as long as you’ll have me. Before I moved here, I’d felt so isolated and lonely for so long despite having hundreds and hundreds of people around me all the time…and now, with just the few of you, I feel more centred and happier than ever.”

“Well in that case…” The duchess grins, gently inclining her head. “I think _forever and ever_ can be arranged.”

Sybil squeals excitedly, and the rest of the girls share in her sentiment as the whole family, including a new accepted member, head inside to have their first afternoon tea all together.

* * *

The wedding itself takes place about three months later, as Pippa predicted her brother has absolutely no objections to the arrangement and comes back the England for a few days for the ceremony and to see his sister before promptly returning to America before Pippa’s parents could make it up to see them properly. Given that the terms of her marriage are relatively inconsequential, life at the Hardbroom household returns much to normal with a few notable differences.

This Sunday afternoon, Hecate is back out in the lake with Mildred and Enid (both of whom have gotten a good grasp of swimming now) and the next two youngest, carrying out her promise to eventually teach them all. Pippa and the other two are sat up on the grass on a blanket, enjoying a picnic that Hecate has, for now at least, been deprived of since while she does have trust in Enid’s swimming ability, her deeper faith in the girl’s penchant to cause mischief is far too strong to leave her without chaperone.

“That’s it Fliss, like that!” Mildred chants as her younger sister starts to paddle by herself for the first time.

“Come on, make it out a bit further!” Enid tries to push the water behind her propel her onwards which, really, helps very little but it’s nice to see them all working together and supporting each other. Felicity then puts her feet down, beaming at her achievement, and looks to her mother who reciprocates the look of pride.

“You did very well, Felicity.” Hecate smiles at her. “And I daresay that was quicker than Enid when she was first starting.”

The girl in question pouts. “Hey! I’m the fastest, and you all _know it._ ”

“Oh, really?” Mildred grins. “I’ll race you to the other bank if you want to try and prove it.”

“You’ve got longer legs, it’s an unfair advantage.” Enid crosses her arms.

“Shouldn’t be a problem is you’re really the fastest.”

“Give Enid a two second head start then.” Clarice says from her perch next to her mother. “That’s fair.”

This seems to appease Enid. “Yeah, we’ll do that. Then everyone will see how much speedier I am that you.”

“Doubt it.”

The race commences, in which Enid does come out victorious but Hecate has a sneaking suspicion that Mildred let her, before she announces it’s time to get out before their fingers prune up anymore. The girl’s reluctance is quickly countered by the promise of strawberries, and soon the whole family has assembled on the blanket wrapped in towels, though quickly drying off in the sun.

“Your hair always astounds me.” Pippa says as Hecate sits down next to her; towel draped around her waist.

She raises an eyebrow. “How, exactly?”

“It’s so long and thick and _beautiful._ ” Pippa takes a strand of it in her hands and plays with it. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were the goddess Hecate herself.”

The duchess rolls her eyes and tries to pretend she’s not blushing. “Hardly. And, is that blasphemy?”

“Maybe.” Pippa hums, taking a strawberry from the bowl in the middle which has already mostly been raided by the children and dips it in a pot of sugar to her right.

“Is it not sweet enough already?”

“A little extra sugar never did any harm.” Pippa says, taking a bite with a grin. “And, besides, for my particular palette nothing is _ever_ sweet enough.”

“Can I have some sugar too?” Felicity asks, with a big smile. Giving the children more sugar than normal is bound to send them into a rush later, but figuring that she can get Miss Hubble to put them to bed tonight and make sure they brush their teeth extra carefully, the duchess hesitantly concedes which prompts a quickly spreading excitement through the group.

Sugar and strawberries are an instant hit with all except, to Hecate’s amusement, Clarice, who spits it out on the grass declaring that it’s far too sweet. “Come here, Clarice.” Hecate says, holding her arms out for her five-year-old. “I think you and I have the most in common here.”

“Parents aren’t supposed to have favourites.” Enid declares, pointing an accusing finger at her mother as she sucks the sugar off her fruit.

Hecate blinks innocently, pulling Clarice closer to her. “Now, who told you that?”

Pippa gasps and bats Hecate with the back of her hand. “Hecate Hardbroom, you are awful.”

“You don’t think I’m awful do you, little one?” Hecate asks the little girl with glasses on her lap, who vehemently shakes her head, snuggling in closer to her mother.

“Nu-uh!” Hecate kisses the top of her head gently, smirking at Pippa who just sighs. Things are changing, and her daughters are starting to grow up, but this casual domesticity is something she’s never had before and is infinitely grateful for—the stress and pain that’s been looming over her for as long as she can remember has begun to dissipate with the arrival of Pippa Pentangle in her life and she doesn’t think she’s ever been happier.

* * *

They remain out for the next few hours and then return to the manor, Hecate completely exhausted and happy to leave Miss Hubble to deal with the flurry of changing and dinners while she adjourns to her own room to sort herself out. It was not so long ago that she was sitting here, at her vanity table, in the middle of the night after her father’s funeral listening to the rattle of carriages outside which marked the entrance of the enigmatic Pippa Pentangle, not that she knew that at the time.

It’s remarkable how much simpler things have become since then—how _happy_ she’s managed to find herself despite how dreadfully painful her life has been up to this point. It’s not something she could have foreseen but is beyond content with how things have turned out. That is not to say things are going to be perfect from here on out, and she has no such illusions, but she is finally in a position where she can truly provide and give her girls the best of herself so that, when they are grown, they can be good and kind and clever without her.

If being out with them today has given her anything, it’s confidence in this.

A knock at the door pulls her from her head, and she mutters a quick ‘come in’ expecting it to be Miss Cackle to keep her up to date on whatever’s happening with the tenants or some child related chaos—and, really, should be less surprised when Pippa, who has taken up a unofficial but very welcome permanent residence with them, pokes her head through the door. “Hello!”

Hecate blinks, feeling suddenly a little self-conscious in just her slip even though Pippa had seen her in it earlier in the lake. Somehow, here, in her bedroom, it feels infinitely more intimate and she’s not sure whether she likes that or not. “Pippa? Is everything alright?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” She frowns, entering the room properly and closing the door behind her. She, too, is dressed in a slip (naturally, hers is pink) but has a long, tasselled shawl pulled around her shoulders too. “Why do you ask?”

“Well…” Hecate swallows, having thought it was self-explanatory. “I can’t think of many other reasons you’d be here, in less than modest attire, this late in the evening.”

Pippa giggles and shakes her head. “Can I not just want to see you?”

“We saw each other all day.”

The other woman sighs and rolls her eyes, walking closer to the vanity and taking a hairbrush from the table. “May I?”

“…You may.”

Pippa starts to slowly run the brush through Hecate’s long, thick dark hair more gently that the duchess thought possible, careful of the few knots and undoing them so lightly that she barely notices it. Hecate lets her eyes flutter shut, unexpectedly enjoying the sensation far more than she was expecting—so much so, that when she hears the gentle clatter of Pippa putting the brush down a few minutes later, she finds herself a little disappointed.

Her eyes flash back open and she looks towards Pippa, who seems contemplative.

“Is everything alright?” Hecate asks, frowning.

“I…” The woman in pink bites her lip. “You do like me, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. Very much!” Hecate says. “I’m sorry if I’ve done anything to make you think otherwise. I know I cam be coarse sometimes and I’m trying to be better about it, but anything I’ve said of done has been misconstrued then—”

“No, no, nothing like that.” Pippa shakes her head, steeling her arms beside her. “I’m going to do something now. Please tell me to stop if it makes you at all uncomfortable, okay?”

“…yes?”

Pippa leans slightly close to the chair Hecate’s on and then, gently, adjusts herself so that she’s sat on Hecate’s lap, legs under the armrests so that her face is just inches from Hecate’s, breath ghosting against her cheek. The duchess’ eyes widen at the sudden closeness, the likes of which she has _never_ experienced quite like this before but is too entranced to make any sort of protest.

And then Pippa’s hand is on her cheek, so gently and softly that Hecate finds herself melting into the touch, vaguely aware that this is probably something she should be dissuading but can’t find it within herself to do so. “Is this okay?” Pippa asks, so quietly that the duchess almost doesn’t hear her.

“ _Yes._ ” Hecate breathes, surprising herself by making the move to narrow the space between them until her lips meet Pippa’s. In that moment is does not occur to her to be nervous or scared of rejection because nothing has ever seemed so clear, so obvious, so right. And it’s clear that her instincts are completely correct since her companion wastes no time reciprocating, testing the waters gently before gently teasing Hecate’s lip with her tongue, prompting her mouth open.

It’s a few minutes before they pull apart, Hecate dazed and lost in her own feelings and Pippa grinning at her with a not quite voracious smirk on her face. “You are incredible, Hecate Hardbroom.”

The darker haired woman shakes her head. “I’m nothing compared with you. _Would_ be nothing without you.”

“You’re too modest.” Pippa coils a strand of Hecate’s hair with her finger, leaning her forehead against the duchess’. “You remain the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I never intend to let that go.”

For all her marriages, Hecate has never felt this kind of closeness with anyone before. She’s had sex, obviously, and exchanged chaste and awkward kisses with all of them but has never felt this warmth with anyone, never this sheer joy of behind held by someone she loves—and she _does_ love Pippa, even if it’s taken a long time to admit it to herself. It’ll take her a long time before she can admit that aloud, but Pippa is nothing if not patient with her, and for that Hecate loves her all the more.

Her future her remains to be seen but for the first time ever Hecate feels nothing but optimistic about it—nothing but proud of what she’s created, and excited to see where it’ll take her.

 _“Go, and be happy_  
 _But remember (you know_ _  
_Well) whom you leave shackled by love.”__ _Pippa says, with a smile._

“Quoting Sappho at me again?” Hecate smiles.

“I’m not sure how else you’re supposed to get a girl to notice you these days.” She chuckles and pulls Hecate in for another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> final chapter! I've really enjoyed working on this fic over the past few months and am quite proud of myself for actually finishing something this long and being somewhat proud of it, because I have the attention span of a goldfish and can never normally finish anything. 
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed reading it too, and would love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> my tumblr is rancidjuno is anyone would like to come and talk to me, i'd love to make some new friends! <333


End file.
